At the World's Mercy
by Somepersonwithapencil0315
Summary: This is basically just a self-insert. I've always imagined what it would be like to just end up in the MCU somehow and what I would do if I was put in a slightly unbelievable situation. And so resulted this monstrosity. Rated M for violence and cursing.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't know why I'm writing this story. Really. I have two incomplete stories and so much homework and reading to do, yet here I am. This story isn't even finished but I just felt like posting it. If I am continuing this fic, the posts are going to be** ** _super_** **sparse and random. Don't expect any kind of system going on. I'm just writing it.**

 **I probably won't finish it so I won't argue against any person wanting to adopt this fic or writing something similar to it. But if you're adopting it, please cite that you are.**

 **But apart from that, this is basically a self-insert with a few names changed, my foul language and such. It also might have some elements of crack!writing but let's just ignore that it's there...**

 **But yeah. Here you go. Read. Or not. I don't really care.**

A dull sense of awareness washes over me. It's subtle, like a light shift in the breeze. It almost feels like I never fell asleep to wake up again. I grimace, squeezing my already shut eyes tighter before tasting the heavy copper flavor in my mouth. A smell is heavy in the air. Very sterile and clean, almost like sanitizer or antibacterial soap. I frown in my mild consciousness. It's disgusting.

I shift, my muscles sore. Jesus. It's bad. I know that I ran yesterday and did a few exercises, but it shouldn't feel this bad.

I open my eyes and a blinding light is what greets me. I wince, shutting them reflexively before slowly fluttering them open, adjusting well to the brightness.

I look to the left to where my nightstand should be, but I don't see my nightstand, nor do I see Kayla's bunk. I sit up immediately and ignore the pain in my muscles. I'm not in my dorm. I look around and I recognize metal objects that shouldn't be in my dorm room and the lack of posters Kayla and I put up. My heart halts for a brief moment. This is a hospital room. Well, at least the smell makes sense.

I look down at myself and notice the light blue garment I'm wearing. Wires are stuck onto my skin on my chest and arms. I furrow my brows as they follow up to the monitors and trays beside me. My eyes fall onto the windows in front of the tray, squinting at the bright sunlight streaming through the glass.

It's a busy hospital that I'm in. I could tell. Usually my hearing is total shit but I could hear all the bustling outside my door. I look over, seeing the opaque little window that permits me a small look outside and I see multiple figures breezing by, doing their job and getting to patients as soon as they can. Except for two passing by in a few moments. They're just talking about their weekend. I look around. I wonder if I can stand and ask them what the fuck is going on.

I sit up with a gasp, finally processing that I'm in a fucking hospital and I'm in a bed with needles stuck in me. What the hell happened? I look around, my heart racing and the sound of the monitor struggles to keep up.

Oh my God. What happened? Did Renee and I get in some kind of accident? Did I trip and hit my head? What happened? Oh my God, I hope I wasn't in a coma or anything. I graze my hand over the tattoo on my wrist for comfort, looking at the curves and floral designs of a Celtic motherhood knot.

A sudden thought hits me. Does mom know? Oh God no. This could kill her. She already lost one daughter. She can't lose another. I know that she wouldn't be able to handle it. What about Alia or Maria?! And Papi?! What the hell are they thinking? Do they know that I'm okay? They need to know that I'm fine.

On particular set of steps stops in front of my door and I perk up. This guy's coming in here.

The door opens and I recognize the shape and color of a lab coat. I let out a breath as I see them see me and they relax slightly. It's a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and stethoscope around his neck. I furrow my brows when I smell sweat and furrow my brows. He's really got to be sweaty if I can smell him from here.

"Oh. Good. You're alright. Awake even," the man says, walking forward toward the monitor and pressing the screen, changing it to another format and then another. I can't see what's on the screen enough to tell what he's doing but I assume he's checking vitals. "What happened?" I ask, leaning back in the bed and trying to remember what the fuck happened.

"We were hoping you could answer that question," the doctor states blandly while taking a step closer to my bedside and checking on the wires connecting me to the computers. "Are you feeling sick or dehydrated in any way? Any dizziness or pain?"

I nod. "I need water."

The doctor steps farther away from my bed and I watch him move toward a counter with a small paper cup.

I lean forward as I see him move to a water gallon with the cup, placing it in the appropriate place while he fills it with water. The muscles of my back ache dully, especially on the left side, around my shoulder.

The doctor starts to walk back to me and I reach out with my hand, prepared to take the cup when my muscles protest with a strong ache in my left shoulder.

I grimace, letting out a whine as I drop my hand, sighing in discomfort. "Dammit that hurts."

"Well, that is expected after that fall you took," he comments idly, bringing my hand up with his to place the cup inside my palm. I close my hand around it, the ache not nearly as bad as my bicep but I furrow my brows, looking at my forearm. Something feels weird…

"Fall?" I ask, finally processing his words and being immensely confused by them.

He shakes his head. "We'll talk about that later. Drink your water for now."

Looking back at the cup, I notice a small straw grazes the brim of the cup, bobbing side to side as the water inside moves. I look back up at him and he raises his brows expectantly, nearing the cup of water to me. I give him a grateful smile, actually making an effort to because smiles don't come naturally to me. I take the cup, holding back a wince and raise it to my lips. I could feel the dried skin of my lips as they close around the straw.

I take a deep gulp and let out a satisfied sigh as the cool water fills my mouth and soaks my dried tongue. I close my mouth and I let the water sit in there for a few moments, savoring the sensation of cool water before swallowing it. It slides down my throat and I could feel it until it gets to my stomach, where it feels like a heavy splash dousing my heated core with cool water.

"What is your name?" the doctor asks.

I open my eyes, as I look up at the clean-shaven man. His gaze is on his clipboard and his pen ready for writing. He needs my information. I briefly wonder why my parents haven't identified me but quickly remember that I'm in LA right now.

"Roberta Lopez," I answer hoarsely.

The doctor jots it down quickly and I nod, sipping more water out of the cup.

"And...how old are you?" he says as he finished writing my name.

"Twenty-three."

"Any allergies or prior medical conditions I should be aware of?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Do you have any bone implants we should be aware of?"

I shake my head, frowning. "No."

He continues to write down this information onto the paper and looks at me hesitantly before opening his mouth again. "What is the last thing that you remember, Roberta?"

I furrow my brows and try to focus. Pushing past the dull but deep ache in my head, I try to remember anything past walking to my car after watching a movie. I forgot what movie in particular, all I remember is that it was total shit. I shake my head, not able to recall any event beyond that.

"I was leaving the movie theater and going to my car. That's...that's all I can remember…"

The doctor hums as he scribbles this down. I look at him and focus on the name tag on his coat. Emerson. He looks back down at me. "And where did this take place?"

I bite my lip. "Somewhere downtown."

Emerson shakes his head and bites his lip before speaking. "I mean what city."

I furrow my brows. "LA. Why?"

Dr. Emerson's face grows concerned as he jots that down. Even though it's not obvious, I could tell that something I told him troubles him.

"Dr. Emerson?" I cautiously ask. He looks up at me, prepared for a question. "Where am I?"

Dr. Emerson takes a deep breath, looking back down at his clipboard before opening his mouth to respond. "You're in Metro-General Hospital, New York."

I sit there and a pressure builds on my chest. I couldn't have heard right. That's nearly impossible. "Um...what?" I stutter.

Dr. Emerson nods. "Yes. Could you describe anything that would place you here at all?"

I look at him and swallow, trying to keep my panic at bay. "Dr. Emerson, why am I here?"

"Could you answer my question first?" he presses.

I shake my head sharply, ignoring the piercing pain to my temple and I clench my fist, not caring about the delicate paper cup. I could already feel the water spilling over my fingers. "No! I have no fucking clue what could've gotten me here! Now, please, answer my question."

Dr. Emerson only stares at me, his eyes confused but full of sympathy. He licks his lips and opens his mouth. "You were seen falling down from the top of a building."

The words take a moment to sink in. I'm forced to lean back into the raised back of the hospital bed.

What the hell? How did I get from the parking lot of an LA movie theater to falling off a building in New York. And not only New York, but New York City, where Metro General is located. But wait, I've heard the name Metro-General from somewhere before...

"Listen, Roberta…" Dr. Emerson begins. "You fell from a building. It is expected of you to have had severe brain damage and bones broken beyond repair And that's if you _live_."

My breathing gets shaky and I look at him. "What? Am I not going to be able to walk again? Do I have brain damage? What's wrong?"

Dr. Emerson shakes his head, his expression at a loss as his hands drop to his side. "Listen. That's what you _should_ have had. You should've been hospitalized for months bore you would be released…"

I look at him, frowning. "What do you mean _should_? How long have I been here?"

Dr. Emerson checks his clipboard, looking from it to me. "Three days."

I lean back into the cushions of the pillows I'm in before I frown, shaking my head. "I...I don't know what to say about that." I chew on the inside of my cheek before taking another sip from my water. "Did something break my fall?"

Dr. Emerson shakes his head. "You fell approximately five hundred feet before you collided with asphalt."

I choke on my spit for a second before catching my breath. "Holy shit!"

"Ms. Lopez, you need to calm down…" he tells me gently.

"How the fuck am I alive?!"

"Ms. Lopez...have you volunteered for any kind of experimental testing or operations?" he asks, his voice low and cautious.

I look at him, leaning forward in the bed and twisting my mouth in a confused frown. "What? No!"

"Ms. Lopez. You were being transported here in an ambulance. You were found with muscle and tissue damage as well as broken bones. That is expected of many fallers. But...you healed in virtually two days."

I furrow my brows. "What? How is that possible?"

"It's not," Dr. Emerson tells me bluntly. "You shouldn't even be awake right now."

I bite my lip. "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it? It's a miracle."

Dr. Emerson nods. "It is. You should count yourself very lucky. You are perfectly healthy, all healed up from tissue damage and your muscles are all repaired. You should probably thank your enhancements for that."

I take notice of the off word he says. "Enhancements?"

Dr. Emerson looks up from his clipboards. "Yes, enhancements. It's most likely the reason you're alive. Your regenerative cells are what saved you."

"Regenerative cells? What the hell are you talking about?"

Dr. Emerson bites his lip before placing his clipboard on the tray beside me. I look at the clipboard on the silver tray and I notice the familiar shape of my glasses. What the hell? I'm not wearing my glasses?

I reach out and take them, bringing them up to my face as Dr. Emerson continues to speak. I nearly cry at the sight of the cracked lenses.

"Ms. Lopez, are you aware that you are able to regenerate living cells and tissue at an accelerated rate?"

Staring at this man and his serious expression, I have to believe that I misheard what he just said. "I'm sorry but what?"

He takes a deep breath, flipping his pen between his fingers as he contemplates what to say. "You were brought in with minor tissue damage, a few broken bones and severe organ and brain damage." He moves to the front of my bed, pulling out files from what I assume is a file holder attached to the front of the bed and he opens it. He shuffles through the papers and he pulls out three pages.

He hands me an x-ray of my ribs and he points to three thin lines that crack through the bottom three ribs of my left side.

"These are some of your cracked ribs. The paramedics said that they predicted clean breaks in almost all of them, in your sternum and your clavicle. They felt your left arms, wrist. They said that your humerus had a clean break," he says. He puts another page on my lap and I hold it up. This one is of my hip bone and my thigh. I notice a fine line spanning the the top and bottom parts of the ring that my hips create with the pelvis bone. "Along with those, they felt clean breaks in your femur and your spine. But when they brought you in those bones were fine, completely untouched besides the hairline fracture in your pelvis," he tells me as he gestures to my clavicle, sternum and the page with my hips and leg. "You did suffer internal bleeding," he gestures to darker splotches within my ribs and abdomen. "But there were little signs beyond lacerations across your body to suggest severe tissue damage."

He drops another x-ray, and this one is of my skull. "Your skull also suffered severe fractures," he continues, clearly not noticing my shallow breathing at the intake of this information. "I expected for you to never wake up. I was expecting to call brain dead after a few weeks but, by the end of the night, the nurse came back in and saw all your cuts began to scab. There was no bruising whatsoever." He sighs, running a hand over his bald head, massaging it. "It was hard to believe. Eventually, we took another x-ray at eleven. It...this is it," he hands me another x-ray of my torso. Holding it against the light, I see that the three lines from before are gone. I squint hard, trying to find a sign of cracking but there isn't. I check the date on the earlier x-ray, both saying that it was taken September thirteen, but the first one saying six thirty-three and the second saying eleven forty-five. It's then that I notice the year. It says two thousand-fifteen. I frown, putting the page back down and processing it. I hope that none of my intense confusion and skepticism is too apparent in my face because that's exactly what I feel because last time I checked, it was two thousand-twenty-two. "As you can see, all your bones are perfectly fine now."

"So…" I breathe, staring at the bright white of my muscle and biting my lip. "You're telling me that _these_ are my x-rays...and my bones are all better, my internal bleeding is healed and I'm completely recovered after three days." I look at Dr. Emerson. "Forgive me for being skeptical. I'm sure you'll understand that I'll want proof."

Dr. Emerson purses his lips before opening his mouth. "That's completely natural. I do have a small piece of evidence. I will completely reassure you that there has been no tampering with your skin beyond anti-bacterial and several bandages when you were found," he tells me, moving his hand to tug the sleeve of my right arm up and over my shoulder. I grit my teeth, immediately grabbing his hand and pulling it away. What the fuck is he doing? He raises his hand up in a sign of peace. His breathing actually starts to get ragged. "Okay, okay. My bad. I should've warned you. I'm not a perv. I promise."

I glare at him but notice the sincerity in his words and expression. I drop his hand, finally noticing how hard I had his hand in my grip. "Fine." I look down at my shoulder, pulling the skin more towards the center of my body to where I assume the sleeve of tattoos he was gonna show me was. What happened to my tattoos, I don't know. But I'm guessing it has something to do with it. My shoulder is still covered in the floral tattoos that lead to the dog skull on my arm and gradually transition into intricate designs stopping at my elbow, unlike the full sleeve I have on my right arm. I prepare to see the comforting skull of my dog but furrow my brows when only half of the skull is there. I twist more, hoping somehow that I'll see the rest of the tattoo continued farther away somehow instead of seeing the expanse of bare flesh with a crude, rough line indicating where my tattoo has disappeared.

"What the fuck?!" I hiss, looking up at Dr. Emerson as I follow the line to its random and spontaneous path down to my elbow. It's as if it was wiped away or something. I look at my wrist, thankful that my first tattoo is there.

"This is the area of skin that you lost in your fall. It grew back but the tattoo didn't," he explains shortly.

I look back at the tattoo, my mind spinning at the fact that if I did lose the skin somehow and it grew back, it would probably look like this. Skin grows back eventually. Tattoos don't.

I let out a breath, looking at him. "So how could this have happened?"

"Is this the first time that you hear about your regeneration? Have there been signs that lead to you having this ability?" he asks.

I look at him, astounded by his question. "I was completely normal before I, apparently, fell of a fucking building."

"Ms. Lopez, it's not out of the realm of possibility that you could have been abducted and experimented on."

"Experimented? By who?" I ask. "Some hidden away government conspiring against us?"

"Well, since HYDRA was apparently hiding within SHIELD like a leech, it's not an impossibility," he says.

I chuckle. "I appreciate the reference but this is real life."

"I wish it wasn't real life," he mutters. "Maybe then we'd still have a Sokovia."

I ignore his references, not sure I completely understand what he means. "So I don't have any injuries or anything?"

"Not any that you haven't recuperated from," he tells me.

I lean back in my bed, still confused.

"I don't...this is kinda hard to believe," I say, putting the x-rays down and looking at him.

"I could always show you your complete file," he tells me, holding out the file in his hand. "It has all your injuries and blood test results."

I reach out tentatively, brows furrowed as I hand back the x-rays. "What do they say?"

He licks his finger, opening the folder and shuffling through the papers until he stops at one. He pulls it out of its spot, bringing it on top of the folder once he closes it. "So, the test results show that you are a very healthy person," he begins. "High count in white blood cells, perfect blood pressure, no cholesterol, therefore no clots. One thing that we do notice though is that you have a large amount of vitamin A and C, as well as zinc. The vitamin C produces collagen, which does help the body recover from wounds quicker, but not in the way you do. Though, with the amount of Vitamins in you, it could be a plausible explanation."

"So what? I'm like this because I ate a lot of oranges?" I ask.

Dr. Emerson chuckles. "At least you're keeping it light," he comments. I chuckle bitterly. My coping mechanism is keeping me from freaking the fuck out. "Unless you were born this way, there is no way for you to develop these abilities within the last few years without any kind of experimental intervention."

I grimace and look up at him. "How do I even know you're telling me the truth? For all I know, this could be bullshit. You might not even be a doctor."

Dr. Emerson smiles. "Believe me, I didn't go through four years of grad school to lie to patients about what saved them," he tells me.

I stare at him. I don't know if I would ever be honest about something as ridiculous and incredulous as what this guy's trying to tell me.

He sighs, opening the folder again before he looks at me and purses his lips, closing the folder again and holding it out to me with both hands. "Here. I think you should see the rest for yourself."

I look at him, my eyes narrowed before reaching out with my sore arm and taking it, noticing the alleviating pain. I take it and open the folder with a grimace. There's multiple pages of paperwork. Most of it is information about me and my injuries when I was found. I frown as I notice that there's multiple pages with a fill-in-the-blank spots for patient's injuries and condition. I notice that there are two written on the same day.

I look at the first one and swallow thickly.

Apparently, most of my left shoulder, arm and face tissue-basically my entire left side, was missing most of my "epidermal tissue" which, according to my little sister who just started her medical classes, means skin. It was a result of blunt force trauma at an angle. This means that when I impacted the ground, because of the angle, I scraped against the floor. My left arm and left leg were dislocated and the tendons and ligaments in my body were torn. Some muscles were basically disconnected from my bones. My lungs also filled with blood and one of my eye's retinas ruptured. I shiver thinking about these injuries actually happening to me. I furrow my brows. How the hell did I get so hurt falling from the top of a building?

I look at Dr. Emerson. "What building did I fall off of? The Empire State?"

He purses his lip before shrugging."Witnesses only caught you falling. They didn't see you jump off or actually fall from the roof of a building. The building closest to you was a sixty story hotel."

I bite my lip, looking back down at my papers. I push aside the first page, checking the date to see that this is in fact the day after the first one when I notice the last number on the date. Fifteen…

Fifteen again? Is it two thousand and fifteen, too? Not only did I fall off a fucking building, I also travelled back in time!

I shake my head, glancing at Emerson as he watches me intently.

With a racing heart, I check the other pages. All end with fifteen. I hold the x-rays against the light and, lo and behold, last number is fifteen. September fourteenth two thousand fifteen to be exact.

I frown, breathing deeply while trying to calm down. This must be some mistake. I can't be seven fucking years in the past! It's not fucking possible. It's just like with Emerson's whole body healing ruse. Fucking impossible.

I ignore that, shaking my head. This has to be a typo. That's the only explanation.

Looking away from the date on the x-ray, I notice that this is a full-body x-ray.

I scan my bones, curious about their shape and the fact that these are _actually_ my bones.

I smirk, slightly entertained at seeing my own bones. I've always wanted an x-ray but I've never broken a bone before. I sigh, wondering if maybe this explains why I've never broken a bone in my entire life. I frown. No. That's not it. I would've felt if those bones broke. And trust me, those bones should've broken. Especially with all the stupid shit I've done.

I place the x-ray down, looking at another that's of my legs. It's of my legs past my knee and it goes to my feet. I hold my gaze close to my toes and I squint, trying to make out the details. I've always wanted to see the bones of my hands and feet.

I put the x-ray down and notice that the next one of a perfect shot of my feet. I see the tarsals and metatarsals. I smirk, slightly satisfied. I skim over the other x-rays until I find the one of my hand comes up. It's one that includes my forearm as well as my complete hand. I furrow my brows, my throat going dry while my mouth parts.

Something-no, not something. Three things are jammed between my radius and ulna! They look cramped. All lined up in a row and they looks like they're pressed against both bones. I frown. They literally look like spikes or something. I look down at my forearm with wide eyes before looking back at my x-ray. Yep. It's still there.

"What the fuck is that?" I gasp, holding out the x-ray to Emerson.

He sighs, biting his lip. "I see that you saw your arm x-rays."

I nod. "No shit!"

He spreads the x-rays out and picks out three more while plucking the one I have out of my hand. "We aren't too sure but it seems as though you have some objects stuck between your radius and ulna," he tells me. He picks up one x-ray and holds it beside the one he took from me. He nods, handing both to me once more. "We found them in both of your arms. We thought maybe it could've been an implant or something but the material seems to look just like bone."

I take both x-rays, holding them up against the light and see a pair of hands, _my hands_ , with something fucking jammed between my bones. "What is it? What could this be?"

He shakes his head. "We don't know. We could try to perform a surgery to remove them," he suggests. "But it seems like you were born with them."

I shake my head. "No, that's impossible. I've never heard of any of this in my entire history of life."

He shrugs. "Look. The ends here," he says, gesturing to the ends at my elbow. "They have cartilage that would normally be seen at the end of a joint or to attack to ligament." The small areas at the ends of the cluttered bone spikes have a strange, double-rounded end where a lighter layer surrounds it, pressing into grooves of my radius and ulna. I clench my right fist, feeling the muscle in there tense up and something else. Almost like a muscle that I didn't feel there before. I feel something within me move up and press _up_ into my wrists. _Painfully_.

"Holy shit!" I gasp, immediately unclenching my hands while hiding them away from me as far as I can manage, as if that would somehow separate me from them and I could forget about them altogether.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

"What?" Dr. Emerson inquires.

I had a dream where I had Wolverine claws. I remember that they hurt. They hurt like _hell_. I'm not saying that I have them but my overactive imagination is making it seem like I do _very much_.

"I felt something move! I felt something move!" I cry out, hysterically close to tears. "I'm freaking the fuck out!"

The monitors start to beep erratically, adding to my mix of panic. I cry out, holding my head as a sweet smell meets my nostrils. Two different smells of the same kind. I could only describe it as fear. It must be mine and Dr. Emerson.

"I need some sedative in room 409! Room 409. Sedative. Stat!"

I look at him. "No, no. Please no!"

He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Please, you need to relax."

His voice is gentle but he's so sweaty and his hand feels just a bit clammy. His smell overwhelms his gentleness. I recoil away from his touch, gripping the metal bar that acts as a rail to my bed and pull myself toward it, my grip tight. I hear a creak and I wince, closing my eyes. There's more steps rushing through the hallway. More than usual. There's a new smell that they bring and it's stinging my nose with the chemicals but it also makes me feel numbed and, in a disturbing way, relaxed. It doesn't combine well with the fear.

I spill the cup I had in my hands over my glasses and I bring my knees up, my sore muscles forgotten altogether. The doors swing open and more people barge into the room. New smells, new noises. I don't dare open my eyes.

I stroke the tattoo on my wrist, breathing deeply and trying to calm down with all the noises and the shouting. Ignore it. Just ignore it all. This sensory input is driving me over the edge. This hasn't happened before. This isn't normal.

I feel hands grab my wrists, covering my tattoo and pulling away my other hand to keep me from touching it. I open my eyes, looking around and seeing two large doctors bringing my arms down to my side while two others reach for my ankles. I grit my teeth, resisting.

"Let go!"

They ignore me. There's tons of yelling and the doctors are all talking to each other.

"Hurry up!" One groans.

"Hold her still!"

I look to the side at the person who voiced the last comment and I see them holding a needle close to the small entry point where the other needle is on my arm. The place where new drugs are introduced in the IV tube.

" _Hija de tu puta madre, dejame ir!"_ I shout, struggling harder.

I let out a cry, the feeling of being trapped intensifying when they get a hold of my legs.

"Hey! We don't need this much force!"

That's Dr. Emerson.

I look for him, his smell, above all others, coming from the far right. I look for him, spotting him behind the person grabbing onto my right leg.

I feel the men with my arms start to finally get a grip holding me down and I glare at them, letting out a wild cry while lashing out, bending my arms up and yanking them back, somehow overwhelming them and even getting to hit them in the face.

I breath deeply, realizing that I have a split second to act and I yank my feet back, bringing my knees up close while the people are pulled forward, one's face smashing into the mattress. I ignore that. She'll be fine.

"No!" I shout, breathing heavily. I look at all of them wildly, holding my arms close to my chest, along with my glasses, which I picked up during the chaos. They were expensive as hell, I'm not letting them get away. "No sedative!"

They're all standing now, staring at me in shock and the person with the sedative holding his arms up. I look at him and glare. My hands are clenched and I feel my forearm muscles wound up tight in excitement, itching to be released. Just like me after a long day. "No sedative."

His hands are shaking and it's then that I notice the needle he has is empty. The plunger pushed all the way down. I frown with an open mouth, looking at my IV drip. I grimace, aching to lash out at something and I yank it out violently while looking at them.

"Why isn't it working?!" The guy holding my left arm whispers to the sedative guy.

"You did get it, right?"

I glare at them. "No sedation!"

I sit there, surrounded by doctors. They could all jump me but I know that they won't. They're just gonna probably insist over and over until I finally calm down and don't need it.

"I believe that I might've mistaken my course of action here, doctors."

Everyone turns to look at Dr. Emerson who stands off away from the rest of us awkwardly. He looks at us. "I'll see to it that the patient does not have another episode. Thank you for responding."

"Dr. Emerson, this is your first week here. We can have more experienced doctors-" one nurse begins.

"I'll continue with the care of this patient, Nurse Hammond. Thank you for responding to my call," Dr. Emerson continues, as if uninterrupted.

I sit there, perched against the elevated bed while the doctors look from me to Dr. Emerson and slowly leave the room, all reluctant and all looking at me suspiciously. Once they're all out and my nerves begin to calm, I relax, my fists still clenched.

"You can relax now," Dr. Emerson reassures me. "I won't call them again. I'm sorry."

Those words make me look at him again, my expression stoic. I look at him. He does look regretful. But he also looks relieved and nervous. I frown. He smells like it too. I grimace. Is smelling another thing? Do I have to smell things? I'd be fine without that.

"I won't say that it's fine but…" I sit back down on my butt, crossing my legs and relaxing some. "I'll accept the apology."

He nods, smiling slightly before it falls. "I'm...I'm new at this doctor thing. I…" he sighs, kicking his leg. "I was treating a person today. I heard an enhanced got brought in and I jumped the first chance I got to treat one."

"An enhanced?" I ask, looking at him.

He nods. "Yeah. They're popping up everywhere now. You, those new Avengers...Hell's Kitchen."

I frown, listening to his words. He made MCU references before but I thought he was just a geek. I frown, thinking about my abilities and the hospital. Metro-General...I have heard that name...in Daredevil and Doctor Strange.

My heart drops to my stomach. Shit.

"You know, I was saved by one of you once. I was hoping that maybe it was you but it didn't seem likely once I saw you," he tells me.

I look at him, urging him to continue while I spiral in my mind, trying to understand that I'm here. I'm _actually here_.

"I lived in Hell's Kitchen for a while. I was walking home from a friend's house. Rookie mistake," he chuckles before clearing his throat. "I was mugged pretty quickly. Or at least almost mugged. A woman about your height," he gestures to me. "She came along. Threw 'em all around and beat the shit out of them. Gave me my stuff back too."

I look at him and my mind immediately reels back to Jessica Jones as the culprit.

"But she was pretty thin and her hair was different. She could've tossed those doctors back like it was nothing," he tells me. "I'm sure you could've, too." His hand grazes the metal railing that I was clutching onto, drawing my attention to it. My jaw drops when I see the dented bar, right where I was clutching it in my struggle. "But you don't really look like her."

I look down at myself, briefly agreeing that I'm too big to be Jessica Jones. I'm pretty muscular. I look down at my arms, furrowing my brows. I'm actually a bit more muscular than before. I've been trying hard to build my muscles the past couple months. I look at Dr. Emerson. "I owe her my life. They had a knife at my throat."

I nod, taking in his story while finally calming down at the intake of information. Jesus Christ. I'm in the Marvel Universe. I'm close to shaking my head to tell myself that that's impossible but I don't want any questions from Dr. Emerson.

"You can stay here the night and check yourself out tomorrow. We'll take new x-rays tomorrow to check for any new developments," he tells me. I nod. "I'll leave you to process things."

He leaves quicker than anything I've seen. I stare after the door as it shuts and the lingering smell of Dr. Emerson stays, as well as all the other doctors. I lie back, stretching out my legs. My right hand stays at my chest with my glasses and I lift them, looking at them before perching them on my nose again, immediately seeing the blurry world that everyone else with normal sight sees, only with added fragmentation because of the cracks. I frown. My eyes were really bad.

Lowering them, I sit there for a moment. Processing what I've been told and believing what I've been told are very different things. I've processed it fine but I'm having trouble believing it. I remember a time when I would've given close to anything to be in the Marvel Universe. To meet my heroes and to distract myself with the fantastical happenings of another world. Now that I'm being told something that I've wanted to hear for years, it's told to me when I'm over it and I started to move forward with my life. The youth in me is already on board with believing this nonsense but the mature part of myself is telling me that this is total bullshit and that I shouldn't just buy into something because it's something I've wanted for a long time.

I look at my hands, wondering about the extra bones in my arms. I felt them move. I swear that I could feel them move earlier. I briefly wonder if there is something in there. I start to wonder even more if it's exactly what I'm thinking they are.

I hold them up, bending my elbows. I twist my wrists, remembering the discomfort and minor pain when I felt them move up. I briefly consider what having Wolverine claws would do to me _physically_. I think about them pressing into my wrists. Would they cut into the cartilage and ligaments _between_ the carpals to get through? I wince at the thought before looking back at my arms.

I've been told that I'm able to heal quickly. So could the Wolverine. But he also said that they hurt every time that they came out. I never thought too deep into it. I thought it was just breaking the skin to stab through. I never considered them stabbing through the wrists. But if he heals quickly, it must be a minor thing.

I look down at my arms, wondering if I should try it. I instinctively shake my head, scoffing at the thought. I'm just crazy. I should ignore this and find my way to an airport and get home so that I could get home, see my family and finish the script I've been hired to do.

I prepare to lie back and ignore it but the vivid sensation of something pushing up against my wrist bones is too strong. I sit straight, rigid as the temptation to at least _try_ it gets me to look down at my hands again.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I suck on my lower lip and lower my left arm. The one with the tattoo. I let out a deep breath. Might as well just prove whether I'm crazy or not.

I clench my hand and focus, trying to imagine what it would feel like to try to push bones out of my arm. It's bizarre but I immediately feel something else in my arm. A subconscious instinct is triggered and it's almost as natural as flexing my hand to move my fingers. I frown, staring at my arm and forcing my eyes to stay open.

I watch as something underneath my arm _shifts_. It could be muscle but I notice that it is accompanied with the sensation of something pressing up into my wrists. I bite my lip, digging my nails into my palm as I shake, staring at my arms.

There's resistance at my wrists, as I imagine it would, and I take a deep breath, clenching harder before an immense pain makes me gasp. I relax my hand and arm before holding my hand while it shakes in shock.

" _Chingado!"_ I hiss in pain.

I breathe shakily before shaking my head. Nope. It's real. I know it's real now. I'm not gonna take 'em out now but I know that they're there.

I look around, wondering where my things are in an effort to distract myself. I hope my phone isn't that jacked up. I had it in my sweater pocket.

I bite my lip, looking at the door and I listen to the steps outside still rushing and the good doctor's smell is not coming anytime soon. I bring my legs over the edge of the bed. I slowly slide down until my toes touch the ground and I ignore the shock of how cold the tiles are. I drop onto my heels and immediately have to lock my knees because I felt my legs threatening to bend.

I stand for a moment, recuperating myself and preparing myself to walk. Taking a deep breath, I walk forward, biting my lip at my wobbly steps as I move to stand in the center of the room. I clutch my glasses in my hand and I look around, scanning for a bag I know has the words "Personal Possessions" on it.

It doesn't take long. I find it in a cabinet inside the counters against the wall. I go back to my bed while I clutch onto my bag with my things. The only things that will probably make sense to me.

I settle myself back in my bed and cross my legs, nestling the bag in the hole they create. I sit there for a while, breathing in the smell of my leather wallet and polyester clothing. I frown. It has another smell too. It's blood. I almost gag at the smell. Not because the smell of blood disgusts me but because it might be evidence of what they've been saying.

I open the bag and reach in, feeling a sweater and stretchy material of my yoga pants. I pull out my sweater and bite my lip. It's my USC sweater. Naturally, it's red. But the stains of blood don't blend in to hide on the tattered left side of it. I hold it up and I see the tattered ends where half of my sleeve goes missing. I frown. How could this happen just hitting the ground?

I put that down, reaching into the pockets and finding them empty. I guess they emptied the pockets. I reach into the bag again and, this time, I take out my leggings and feel relieved that I don't see any tears. I stretch them out, inspecting them in their entirety and put them down. I can probably wear these again when I check out of here. I reach into the bag again and I pull out my bra and my flimsy shirt; the one that I remember wearing in the parking lot before waking up here.

Looking over it, I can't tell if the splatters of red help the black and white design or if it disgusts me. I frown, almost whining. I made this shirt. I got a shirt and then silkscreened the design onto it _myself_. It's a the Venus symbol with triangular designs around it. Then I cut it up into a muscle shirt so that I could be comfortable in it. I grimace now that my blood is all over it. I don't even want to wear it anymore.

I drop the shirt, sighing while leaning back. The light filtering in through the window is starting to turn orange and I purse my lips. I should get to sleep sometime soon.

Finally, I dump whatever's left in the bag into my lap and I almost cry when I see my phone. It's an oldie, but a goodie. Stuck with my since junior year of high school. Cracked twice, system cleansed about five times. I frown. I got it in two thousand fifteen. Would this thing basically be brand new? Looking back down at it, I see that the massive crack on the screen answers my question: "Hell no."

I quickly grab it, noticing that it's ice cold and smile. I'll warm it up real-quick. I press the power button and frown when the screen doesn't light up. I sigh, exasperated. I need to charge it.

I look at the other contents that spilled out of the bag and find the phone charger that I carry with me quickly. I look around for an outlet and find one at the counter. I stand and set up my phone to charge before going back to my bed and looking over the other things I had in my pockets.

I have a pack of gum, my wallet, a couple of _ligas_ and my black bandana.

I place the items back inside the bag with my glasses, save for my wallet. Placing the bag on the chair next to my bed, I check my wallet and find twenty-three dollars, as well as my large collection of expired gift cards and coupons. I pull out my credit-card, my Triple-A card and my Driver's License. Sighing, I wonder if I exist in this world before another thought hits me. Do I exist in this world? If so, does the rest of my family exist? Would it be the same or would it be different?

My mind begins to follow the different route. Particularly, a route involving different events happening July 22, 2014.

Would my sister have survived that day on the mountains? Would this world's Roberta have seen her sister's corpse that day?

My being begins to burn with jealousy at the thought. What the hell? Why did _this_ world's Roberta get to keep her sister? What did she do that I didn't? Is she just a better person? Did the Universe decide that _this_ Roberta keep her sister while I attended her funeral?

I shake my head of those poisonous thoughts, feeling my body react to the bitterness and anger. That doesn't matter. What matters is getting back to _my_ world where _my_ family is. I need to get back before I'm deemed dead. That would be about six months, right? Yeah, I think so.

So I have six months to somehow travel through dimensions to get back home…

I lean back in my bed, sinking into plans that I can act on when I leave the this hospital. I could always go to the New York sanctum and try to talk to the Ancient One. She's self-aware of the Multiverse. Maybe she can help me get back home or something.

I weave through my thoughts, coming up with other plans and solutions for my problem until I sink into unconsciousness, unsure of whether I stopped making hypothetical plans or not.

I wake up the next morning to the smell of coffee. Opening my eyes to the sunlight filtering through the open window is not the best way for me to wake up. My usual rising hours are twelve noon and then I stay in bed for an hour or two on my phone.

I nearly jump up in my bed. My phone.

I drop out of the bed, walking toward the counter when I noticed myself be held back by something attached to my elbow. I frown. What the hell?

I turn back to see the IV drip put back in my elbow and I roll my eyes. I mean it's considerate but...

I remove it from my elbow carefully noticing that, while I looked away from my elbow to put the needle in the tray next to my bed, the little pierce of the needle on my elbow is gone. I rub it with my thumb, frowning. It doesn't hurt. What the hell?

I drop my arm, my stomach twisting. Oh yeah. I have super healing.

I continue on my way to get my phone and I unplug it from the charger, seeing the green battery inform me that it's one hundred percent charged.

I smile, powering it on while I jump onto the bed, settling back into the blankets to warm up my toes and I unlock it, going t the music app and tapping on the playlist labeled STYDGTH-"Songs That Yasmen Didn't Get To Hear".

My mind is filled with alternative and rock music. I walk around the room for a bit, feeling slightly restless. I grab a new cup from the water gallon and start to fill myself a cup until the door opens and I jump, spinning to face the person walking in and relax slightly when I see that it's Dr. Emerson.

He looks at me before noticing the bag on the chair next to my bed and the cup in my hand and he sighs. "You're not supposed to be standing, nonetheless walking."

I wave it off, scoffing. "I fell off a fucking building and I'm fine. I'm sure I could handle walking a few steps."

He shakes his head before pulling out the clipboard. "The x-ray is prepared. You ready to go?"

I chew on my cheek in consideration. Eh, what harm can an x-ray do? I nod, throwing my legs over the edge of the bed and lowering myself.

"Wait!" Dr. Emerson interrupts. I look at him with a confused frown. He scrambles to grab a flattened object with wheels and I'm familiar enough with it to know that it's a folded wheelchair. I roll my eyes when he unfolds it and brings it to my bedside. I look at him with raised brows. "It's standard procedure for patients who fell off buildings."

I shake my head before going along with it and taking a seat in the chair, thinking about the times I would push my _abuelito_ around in a wheelchair. I lift my feet onto the foot supports and I feel the chair beginning to be pushed. I rest my hands on the armrests as Dr. Emerson pushes me past the open door. I close my eyes and scrunch my nose at the flourescent lighting as well as the sting of anti-bacterial in my nostrils. All the new smells and the new sounds are close to overwhelming. I take deep breaths, trying hard to calm down and relax. It's not enough to get me to freak out it's just...a lot to take in…

The discomfort is short lived because we get to the x-ray room soon.

"Alright," Dr. Emerson says. The sound of a door opening catches my attention and I open my eyes. I see a door pushed open and we're inside a room with a bed and a machine with large tubes protruding from it attached to the ceiling. I assume that this is an x-ray because I've seen something similar to this in my dentist's office. I frown when Dr. Emerson steps up ahead of me and gestures for me to stand. He then points loosely to the bed and moves to the computer in the room, logging into it.

I obey him silently, perching myself on the edge of the bed and swinging my legs quietly. I look around curiously. There's a lot to look at right now.

As soon as Dr. Emerson finishes typing into the computer, he then moves to a wall where some black boards are stacked up and he takes one. Next to that is a rack with aprons hang and I frown. That's what the would put on my chest when they x-rayed my mouth when I was in the dentist.

Moving to me, he keeps close to the wall, tucking the board in his armpit. He places the black board on the bed, just a bit beside me and ties the strings of his apron around his neck then around his waist. I watch him do this curiously.

Once the apron is on properly, he picks up the board once more and places it on a counter beside against the wall beside the bed. He reaches up and grabs onto a handle on the side of the large white box that I assume is the x-ray camera.

"Lie down for a moment," he tells me.

I do that, leaning back and awkwardly keeping myself steady while he lowers the x-ray even more and he holds it steady over face. I furrow my brows. Is this safe?

"Close your eyes," he instructs. I do and he clicks something and the machine makes a noise. I open them once I hear him move the machine again.

This time he moves it over my chest and he takes another picture. At least, that's what I assume he's doing.

He moves the x-ray to my hip when I hear something odd. It sounds like a strange clicking, but it sounds oddly familiar. There's a new smell too. It's clean and fresh. Very heavy as well. I frown. It's fucking cologne.

"Sit up."

I snap out of it and I do. He brings up a chair from against the wall and pats it. I take a seat and he picks up the board and places it on the bed beside me. He takes my arms and places it on the plate.

"This is to get a closer look at the bones in your arm," he tells me. I look at him as he's preoccupied moving the x-ray over my arm.

"Where are these x-rays going?" I ask him.

He clicks the thing that I assume captures the image. "It's going into hospital records."

I frown, confused but relieved. "So you're not going to send this anywhere or anything? Nothing for research?"

He looks at me. "Do you want it to be sent? We could send it to a medical research group famous for doing genetic and biological research on strange mutations and odd phenomena."

I shake my head. "No! No. I prefer that this stays under wraps."

He nods. "I thought so. In order to send this kind of patient information, it has to be sent with patient consent."

I nod, contemplating this. That's good. I hope that they could keep secrets because I don't want any attention while I'm here, trying to find a way back to my world.

"Could you place your other arm there?"

I nod, snapping out of my thoughts and moving my other hand to lie on top of the black plate.

I perk up when, after the click of the x-ray taking a snapshot, footsteps approach the door. It's a pair and they're very apparent, since this section we were at is staff and patients only.

A knock on the door makes me jump.

"What the hell?" Dr. Emerson says. He looks toward the door and I turn my attention to it too, my nerves frazzled for some unknown reason. I smell something weird. It smells close to a sedative but stronger and a whole lot more moist, if that makes any sense.

He places the x-ray back up against the ceiling before he moves to the door but grabs the wheelchair first, pushing it out of the way.

He opens the door and peeks out, keeping it closed for the most part. "Can I help you?"

"Yes. Are you Dr. Emerson?"

The voice is smooth and I could smell the person's breath from all the way over here. The mint gum doesn't hide the tobacco he chewed earlier.

Dr. Emerson nods. "I am."

"Are you the doctor treating Roberta Lopez?" he asks.

Dr. Emerson straightens before glancing at me briefly. He lowers his head before reluctantly answering "Yes."

There's a pause.

"I am Doctor Cornelius," the cleaner one introduces. "We represent the Canadian government's department that looks into genetic anomalies and phenomena. Intelligence has indicated that Ms. Lopez possesses some qualities that are in our studies' area of interest," another man explains. This guy is cleaner but the way he smells doesn't help me ignore what he just said.

"Excuse me, but can I ask what department you represent?" Dr. Emerson asks suspiciously.

"Department K," the other one, the first one, answers. "Essex Corporation, to be exact."

"How do you know about Ms. Lopez?" Dr. Emerson asks.

"Information was sent to us by the hospital," Dr. Cornelius explains.

I could feel Dr. Emerson frown but my stomach twists. Fucking knew that this hospital was no good. "But you shouldn't know that. The hospital can't do that."

"Listen, son," the nameless one says. "You're young so you don't know the ropes yet-"

"No," Dr. Emerson interrupts, making me listen to him more intently. "I know the hospital policies in and out. We cannot share patient information with any outside parties without patient consent. The head doctor told me so himself..." Emerson pauses and I practically _feel_ his expression go from polite to serious. "...to prevent abductions."

The men are quiet for a moment.

"Is Ms. Lopez in there with you, Dr. Emerson?" Dr. Cornelius asks.

"No. I am with another patient," Dr. Emerson lies smoothly. I feel myself relax as I look at him. He knows something's up too.

It's the quiet before a storm. I can feel it as I tense up, my relief gone and replaced with dread.

The door that Dr. Emerson is holding open is pushed in and it smacks into his face. I hear him grunt as he lands on the floor while I jump to my feet, breathing heavily and my senses haywire.

The door is opened again when I see a man in a white labcoat step in and a man in a black suit follow after him, closing the door behind him.

I stand low, my hands held up defensively. I've spent the past seven years learning all kinds of crazy self-defense. Jesus help me if boxing and krav maga fail me now.

I watch Dr. Emerson scramble away from them from his spot on the floor. I watch the man in the suit reach into the lapel of his jacket and grab something. His hand returns with a semi-automatic gun and my heart drops. This isn't happening. This can't be fucking happening.

"Listen, Doctor. We have papers and everything. It would be official that she checked herself out and no trouble would come to you or the hospital," the man in the suit says.

"You have to understand, Dr. Emerson," Dr. Cornelius begins. "Our research is crucial and that woman," he points to me. "Is the key to what we've been searching for. You must understand as a man of science that, to save lives, some must be lost to perfect the cure."

Dr. Emerson stands and he looks at me. I stare at him, praying that he doesn't take it. He looks back at the pair of men and he shakes his head. "This isn't right. I'm calling security and you will be banned from this hospital."

Dr. Emerson moves to make his way around them but is pushed back by the man in the black suit. He falls to the ground before the man in the black suit kneels down with his knee on Dr. Emerson's gut.

"Take care of him," Dr. Cornelius says.

My hairs stand on end at his words. That only means one thing.

I let out a wild cry, moving forward and lunging myself at the man in the black suit, ignoring Dr. Cornelius. I collide with his chest and knock us both down. We land in a heap but I immediately pin him down and strike his face and neck with my elbow and my fist, quickly rolling off of him to flee, but this isn't self-defense. This is a fight. I just incited a fucking fight.

I shake my head, looking at Dr. Emerson as he pulls himself to his feet and backs up immediately. The man on the floor coughs, breathing heavily as he rolls to his stomach and rises to his knees, recovering from my attack.

"Fucking bitch!" he hacks, raising his gun to point at me. I lower myself, prepared to rip that fucking thing out of his hand.

A gentle hand rises between us and I turn my attention partially to Dr. Cornelius.

"Now, now. Settle down. We don't want to fight you," he tells me. "You represent something valuable to us."

I glare at them. "Fuck you!"

They stare at me for a moment before Dr. Cornelius chuckles. "Quite a spitfire, isn't she."

"I don't give a damn!" the other one heaves, rising to his feet. "Give me the chloroform."

I stiffen as he takes out a handkerchief from his pocket and Dr. Cornelius plucks a bottle out of his breast pocket. I watch as the suited one pops the cap off of the bottle and douses the handkerchief in the liquid and the smell that I sensed earlier hits me like a truck. This is the numb, wet smell. It's chloroform.

The man walks forward and reaches out to me, prepared to grab me. I tense up, already knowing what my next move is.

He takes one step closer and I move forward quickly, throwing a left hook, stunning him before grabbing his outstretched right arm, turning back and bringing my weight forward, pulling his arm over my shoulder, bringing the rest of the man's massive body.

He lands with a _thump_ and I spin around, facing Dr. Cornelius but looking at Dr. Emerson. I shove Cornelius aside, reaching out for Emerson and grabbing his wrist, moving to the door before a shot rings out and waves of pain ring throughout my body.

I cry out in agony, dropping to my knees as I clutch my hand. I look down, seeing blood splatter the floor. It isn't until now that I realize how bizarre it is to see a hole straight through your own hand. Crying out once more, I look up and glare when I find the man in the suit standing and recovering, a smoking gun in his fucking hand.

Ignoring the pain, driven by some kind of wild anger and rage to fucking kill him. I lunge at him and swing wildly.

My fist collides with his face and his own meaty hammer-fist meets my gut. My breath leaves my body as he grabs my throat and lifts me up.

Somehow, through all the rage, my self-defense instincts tell me to kick up, right into his chin. I do and he howls in pain, loosening his grip.

I'm dropped and stand over the man as he heaves in pain, clutching his chin. He growls as he raises his hand with the gun and rush forward to grab the gun when he fires. Straight into my gut.

Pain rips through my core and my breath leaves my body. I double over in pain, gasping for air as I watch the man stand. I drop to my knees, overwhelmed by the pain and I hear a chuckle.

"Not so tough now, bitch."

The disgusting tobacco and sweaty smell makes me shake. How the fuck does this man-this disgusting fuck-get the best of me? My blood boils, the pain in my abdomen forgotten. I don't know what him and Cornelius have planned but I can't fucking let them have me!

I cry out, my muscles tense as a pain rivaling the pain of being shot tears through my arms, spearing through my wrists and bursting past the skin of my knuckles. I cry out in agony, looking at my hands, eyes bleary in pain as I see bloody spikes protruding from my hands. Three between each knuckle of my fingers. The base of the spikes are red and angry but are quickly fading, along with the pain. I stumble back in shock, staring at them with my eyes painfully wide. What the fuck...

" _Que carajo?!_ " I choke out.

I feel a burning pain hit my hip and then my shoulder. I scream in agony, stumbling further back and I open my eyes through the pain. The figure of the man in the suit is blurred due to the building moisture in my eyes, but I can see his pale, shocked face and his trembling hand holding up the smoking gun.

The pain starts to fade as I stare at him in shock then at my figure. I see the large splotches of blood that stain my shirt have a large hole where the bullets shot through my gut and hip. But underneath, I see the bullet hole with blood leaking out. But the pain is mild.

Another explosion of flesh and fire bursts in my form and I scream, staggering from the pain. Jesus fucking Christ!

I look at the man and glare at him, the pain mixing with growing rage. I cry out as I reel my arm back, swinging wildly as my fist meets the man's shoulder, the newly discovered bones piercing into his arm and blood bursts out.

I ignore the cold chill down my body at the thought of spilling this man's blood. He shot me twice. Fuck it.

I pull my fist back, my other hand already swinging to his chest as I bring my other hand up, prepared to swing again.

I feel his fist meet my face as my claws are imbedded in his chest. Another punch nails me right in the face, colliding hard with my nose and I feel a crack. The pain is minor, though. I bare my teeth as I feel blood gush out of my nose. I taste copper in my mouth. I watch as the man pulls back his arm and I let out a yell when I bring my arm down on his quickly approaching arm hard, stabbing through it and pinning it to his chest. I prepare to yank my other hand out of his chest when I feel explosions of pain rake over me as the deafening sound of shots fired rings throughout the room. I yank out my other claw with a cry as I punch his face in anger and pain. My claw penetrates his skull and I don't think about it until now, when I feel his body slump down and my other hand imbedded in his chest with his hand pinned falls with him. I gasp, pulling back and watching him land in a heap. I killed him. I fucking killed him.

My rage leaves me and dread replaces it in tons. I almost fall to my knees shaking. What the fuck did I just do?

I feel a prick against my shoulder blade and I spin around with a cry, swinging wildly. Stabs of pain in my ribs protesting my movement but the pain seems to be fading. The sound of metal clinking against the floor makes me look down. Droplets of blood splash against the cold tile. Droplets coming from me. Three bullets are there. Another joins it, making another clink and I realize that the clinking is bullets that are falling out of me.

I ponder at that, slightly dazed. I must be going into shock. Looking up, I see Cornelius standing there with a syringe and an amazed smile in his face.

"Fascinating..." he breathes. I grimace, staggering in my feet to stand straight. Looking around for an escape, my gaze finds the ground, following a pool of blood that leads me to a stained red lab coat. I gasp, ignoring the fading pain as I move forward, falling to my knees with tears prickling my eyes when I see Dr. Emerson's ghastly face, eyes unseeing as they stare up into the heavens. I gasp for breath as a sob escapes me. Holy shit. He's dead. He's fucking dead. How did this happen? He helped me. He tried to help me.

"How extraordinary!" Cornelius' voice breaks the mourning.

I tremble on my knees, standing again but the rapid movement slightly making my head hurt. I zero in on Cornelius and I lunge forward with a cry. He seems to move exceedingly fast, as he steps to the side easily and I can't stop myself from falling to the floor. I land on the floor with my elbows and knees braced against the floor. I shake my head. No. I'm not going into shock. I've been drugged.

"Hm. You'd think that one elephant tranq would work," Cornelius mutters behind me. I feel another prick and I swing behind me, standing to my feet as I sway.

No. This can't be happening. This can't be fucking happening right now…

I stagger forward, trying to focus on Cornelius and I swing forward before landing on the floor, my temple hitting the floor and suddenly lacking the energy to stand.

"No…." I breathe before finally losing consciousness.

It's the sensation of rumbling that brings me to consciousness. It's repetitive and, amid the slow, muddy thoughts, I recognize that I shouldn't be here.

Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes, looking around and lifting my arms, tensing up when I feel them unable to do so. I look down and notice thick, black restraints holding my wrists down, as well as my shoulders. I shake my wrists, looking around when I feel hands push down my shoulders and I look up, noticing people sitting opposite of each other inside the cabin that I'm in.

Looking to the left, I see someone crouching over me and then a small pinprick pokes at the flesh within my elbow and I take a deep breath, trying to stay awake but unable to before falling into the darkness again.

I resurface every once in a while, each time opening my eyes to different environments.

I open my eyes and keep them open this time on a thick, rough material. I'm lying down within a room and, from what I can see, the walls are made of concrete. I lie there for a bit before bringing my elbows up and leaning up on them, bringing myself up enough to feel what I'm lying down in. I look around and my first observation is that this room is small. I look towards the front of the room, the end opposite to be because I'm pressed up against a wall, and I see a door. It has a small window that's covered with a sliding hatch. I look down at the spot I lie in and see that it's a floating bunk. I swing my legs over the edge and sit up, leaning forward with my hands gripping the edge. I then notice that I'm no longer in my bloody, blue hospital gown. Donned in a dull gray shirt and gray pants with no pockets adds to this dark, gloomy prison.

I'm in a prison. I don't have to have been in a prison before to know that this is a fucking prison.

It smells dusty in here. I press my hands down on the mattress and look down at it. The edges are softer and thicker than the thin, flattened center. This has been used by someone before.

I stand, walking forward and inspecting the sliding hatch. I grimace as I bring my hand up to it and slide to the left. No. This isn't moving that way. I switch directions and slide to the right and there's a small amount of movement but that stops immediately, like if it got caught in something. I growl, dropping my hand. It's got a lock on the other side.

I go inspect the edged of the door and growl in deeper frustrated when I notice that there's no knob on this side on purpose. I go back to the floating bunk and sit back down, gripping the edge of the bunk, annoyed. What the fuck do I do?

I can't tell when seconds become minutes. When I don't keep track of time, anything feels like hours, so I can't tell if it took hours for the guards to burst into the room and knock me down, or if it's been ten minutes.

It doesn't change that my nose is broken and I taste blood in my mouth with my face pressed against the rough concrete floor. The surprise and their speed is what gave them the ability to pin my hands down.

I thrash wildly, crying out in protest and cursing them and their families as they flip me over. Something thick and metal is clamped around my wrists, not allowing me to fight back. It's this restraint that keeps me from slicing into each and every one of these fuckers right now.

That thought gets me to stop thrashing while they heft me up. Huh. I seem to have gotten comfortable enough to just think about _slicing_ and _dicing_ people. I close my eyes and press my lips together tightly. What the hell is wrong with me? How the hell did I go from a fucking pacifist to just being casual about slicing people up with fucking Wolverine claws? And don't even get me started on the claws…

I'm shoved forward by a guard. Four other people surround me and I finally get a good look at my prison. There's more doors. An almost endless hall of doors and, based on the smells and sounds, there's more captive than me.

I glance at my immediate captors inconspicuously. They seem to be wearing military uniform, or at least dark camo armor with guns and helmets. I count their size and the inevitable fighting experience. I can't right now. I'd be outnumbered and outmatched.

I continue my walk as they lead me at gunpoint to wherever the fuck I'm being taken. We soon leave the hall of prison cells and enter an open area of cages and hoses. We pass by that and walk through a hallway with windows into other rooms and I look into the windows and immediately regret ever looking.

They're opening people up. Literally opening them up. One person has their face peeled back and their chest and stomach clamped back.

I clench my teeth shut and look forward, tempted to run out of here and get out. I shiver at the thought of being one of those people. If look at the guards and then at my restrained wrists. If I stay longer.

We approach a glass door and looking through the glass, my blood runs cold. It's a room full of tanks of water with a vault door on the top.

I falter in my steps as we approach the, now open, door. Guns press into my back, the implied threat making me step forward reluctantly. What's going to happen?

We step into the room and some doctors-more likely scientists-step over to greet the guards. They glance at me curiously.

"Is this the _special_ one?" One scientist asks.

She's talking to the lead guard and the guard nods. She gives me a once over. "So she's the newest one? When did you even get her? She seems very lucid." she asks.

"She's going to be the next candidate for the Weapon X program."

My heart falters. Weapon X...weapon X? Really? I thought that the X-men property belonged to Fox? How is this even in the Marvel Cinematic Universe? They usually stay as far from each other as they can.

"We have to perform tests to determine whether she can survive the procedure or not," she tells the guard with a frown. "It's not an easy procedure. It's purely hypothetical at this point. Few of the experiments have been somewhat successful, but all have had long lasting side effects that ultimately led to infection or death."

I stiffen up, trying hard not to tremble in fear. I experimentally pull at the clamps, testing their strength. I grit my teeth subtly in frustration when they refuse to budge. This is going to be difficult.

"Can you please just get it done," the guard urges. His tone is less than cordial.

"We have many approved test subjects in waiting but you want us to rush through this particular testing?" the scientist rebukes.

"Cornelius' personal request. He says that this one is different from the rest," the guard tells me. He scoffs. "Says her regeneration is practically instantaneous and fast."

The scientist scoffs, looking at me. "Impossible. Even with our current subjects, it takes days for them to heal one bone."

I raise my brows, trying hard not to breath heavily in anger. They have others like me? How do they catch all of these people under the radar?

"Apparently, not just that," another guard comments.

The scientist looks at that guard with narrowed eyes. "Then what else warrants my time and work?"

"She has some kind of mutation. Extra bones in her body that shoot out like claws," the guard says.

The scientist rolls her eyes. "Let's get on with this." She gestures to the tank with a nod. "Go get her in. I'll prepare the computers." She turns to another scientist. "Muller. Get the transmitters on her."

The other scientist she talked to is an older man. His hair is peppery, starting to gray, and he has crows feet in the corner of his eyes but the edges of his mouth sag down, revealing a lot of time frowning, just as he is now. He nods tersely as I'm pulled away. I move my gaze to the tank and look around, not moving as the circle of guards move that way. The guns they have poke at my spine, making me shiver with discomfort. I look around, twisting my head to look at the scientist.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking at the group of scientists that are making their way up some stairs to a separate cabin with computers in it. There's windows all along the front of them to see the events going on in the room we're in without getting dirty I suppose. "What are you gonna do?"

Looking around, I part my mouth while I breathe heavily. None of them are answering me. I look at the one scientist that's in our group and open my mouth.

The clamps around my wrist yank me forward and I'm interrupted from talking to him. I gasp out, staring at the guard yanking me by the clamps and glare, yanking back twice as hard. I manage to make him stumble before something hits me over the head. Something hard. I grunt, stumbling forward while hands tightly grip my shoulders and arms. I shout, kicking up and struggling in their grip.

"Let me go!" I shout. "What are you doing?!"

My thrashing legs are grabbed and held tightly by other guards and I thrash around wildly. Now I'm not even being dragged. I'm being lifted up the stairs. "Let me go! Fucking let me go! _Hija de tu madre_! Let me go!"

The words are useless as I'm still brought up the stairs to the top of the water tank. I twist as best as I could and notice that, with the position they're lifting me in, that my fists are touching their shoulders and arms. I stare at the guards, pausing in my struggle for a moment. They're all preoccupied with restraining my individual limbs and I look at the two guards holding me up by my arms. I stare at them curiously and they don't move from their spots near my fists.

I grit my teeth, bracing myself for the pain when I close my eyes prepared for the pain.

It feels like the inside of my arms is being shredded and like my hand just got split into three individual parts. The skin between my knuckles gushes with blood, some landing on my neck, but it stops quickly. I cry out in pain before I hear shouts and curses. I twist my body, taking advantage of their surprise before lashing out with my cuffed arms, stabbing my claws into the arm of just one of the guards holding onto me, only slashing the other one. I swing my legs, trying my luck but only hitting one of the guards. With my free leg, I kick the other guard's face, not holding back any strength. I let out a loud grunt as I kick her again, finally able to pry my other leg free.

I consider trying to kick the guard to the left of me even though he seems a bit far for my legs to reach before changing my mind and bending my abdomen up, bringing my legs around the head of the guard that my claws impaled and bring my weight forward, making him fall over and landing awkwardly against the stairs but with me on top. I remove my claws from his shoulder before yanking them out and bringing them down on his neck. I grit my teeth as scorching hot bullets hit my side endlessly and I turn to look at the one guard left conscious with her gun aimed at me. I hold the restraints in front of my face, blocking the bullets from hitting my face and piercing my brain. I'd prefer to have to have to pull bullets from my arm than watch them fall out of my head with no clue who I am.

I double over once the bullets concentrate on my stomach and it feels like my stomach is on fire. I begin to cough and I feel something come up my throat. I cough out and I notice that that spit that lands on the gray, metal restraints isn't clear. It's red.

I involuntarily fall forward and the butt of a gun makes sharp contact with the back of my head. It feels like I've been pushed deeper into my subconscious for a moment before opening my eyes again to a bright light. I'm tempted to smile, thinking that this might be the end until the light moves side to side, revealing the face of the scientist that seems to be the director of this whole operation in this room.

"Still alive. And her abdomen is regenerating already. How...how is this possible?" she says, her voice foggy and unclear in my mind.

"This is extraordinary!"

"Imagine all the things we can discover with her DNA!"

The scientist turns the flashlight in her hand off as the image becomes more clear. I blink, squinting my eyes as I notice the other scientists standing over me, along with the sole guard that I haven't incapacitated.

"Get the wires on her. Quick!" the scientist says. There's scrambling as I blink more, groaning as the soreness in my body becomes more apparent. I frown when I flex my fingers, feeling something between them, separating them. I frown. My claws are still out.

My clothes are ripped off and hands are all over my body. And not in the sexual way.

They stick things on me. Stickers or something. Most are on my braless chest, some are on my temples and I weakly raise my arms, growling in protest as they place some on my neck and my hips.

I swing wildly once I built up enough strength. One of the other scientists squeals and I see that I nicked her cheek.

"Careful!" the guard snaps, bringing the butt of her gun down on my forehead. I groan in pain, my head throbbing in pain. "Keep your distance. Be quick!"

"There!" the lead scientist calls. "Done! Get her in the tank quick!"

I'm lifted by my waist and thrown over the shoulder of the guard. I grunt as I'm settled on her shoulders, her joint digging into my belly painfully. I growl, swinging my restrained fists, trying to find some way to hit her. I bend my arms toward me and pull back, preparing to hit the back of the woman's head but her helmet protects her. I grit my teeth as she continues on with her ascension up the stairs as the scientists retreat back to their stupid computer room while two other keep their distance, their eyes trained on me in caution and fear. I look at them with a frown. They're scared of me. Terrified. They're staring at me like I'm some kind of wild animal. I briefly contemplate my behavior the past few days and notice that I have actually been rather short-tempered and wild, the polar opposite to my usual temperance. I frown. I wonder if this has something to do with the claws.

I feel a hand press into my ribs and shove, pushing me off the shoulder of the guard and I'm flying for two seconds before I see darkness create a tunnel that runs longer, at the end the guard with the frowning scientist and the two others and then my back collides with water.

I break through the surface and I close my eyes as I'm engulfed in the cold fluid. Trying to separate my arms, I curse the restraints. In a last ditch effort, I kick and try to doggy paddle with my bound hands, trying to reach the surface. I growl, my breath creating bubbles as I grit my teeth with an open mouth, struggling because I could feel myself sinking.

I almost take a deep breath to alleviate my frustration and I growl deep in my throat, opening my eyes and looking around. I should be able to see because there's a window in front of the tank to look inside, the rest of it metal.

I see darkness with white light filtering in through the round window. The water is fairly clean so my eyes don't sting. I look up and notice that, while I am sinking, the water level is rising quickly, filling up the whole tank.

I grit my teeth, abandoning the doggy paddle and straightening myself, kicking my feet to propel myself forward. With the added weight of the metal restraints, it's difficult to swim forward, especially with my hands unable to aid my feet. But there's nothing I can do about except just forcing my way up to reach the water so that I can breath before the tank fills up.

I narrowly reach the surface and I take a deep breath before I fall under again. I struggle to reach it again but I do, resurfacing and seeing the ceiling of the tank get closer. I swim with the rising water and feel the tip of my claws hit my chin. I grimace, moving my chin away from the claws and looking at them. I wonder how I retract them.

I clench my hands, focusing hard but nothing seems to be happening. My heart drops. I don't know how to retract them. I curse, trying to stay afloat but also staring at my claws.

Okay, I'm tensing up. Maybe the key is to relax and focus or something.

I force myself to relax and take a deep breath while I can. I purse my lips as I stare at my claws, starting to feel more desperate as I start to get close to the ceiling. Slowly, ever so slowly, I see the ones in my left hand start to sink. I stare at them, mouth open in shock as I continue trying to get them to sink back in, still unsure what I should be focusing on as I try to retract them. I watch the ones on the left sink slowly but surely, watching the one on the far right sink quicker than the rest. I grimace when I feel the other two grind against it as they sink too. I bite my lip, watching them finally disappear and the skin of my knuckles grow over. I feel them nestle within my arm and I almost smile. Thank god! I stare at the ones on the right and bite my lip as I narrow my eyes in concentration, relaxing but then realizing that the roof is really close.

I involuntarily clench my hand and stare at it, simply willing for the claws to sink in when they do, much quicker than the left ones. I stare at it in surprise. I shake my head, not questioning but watching in dread of the moment that my head makes contact with the metal roof. I take a deep breath and fall into the water right as it reaches the roof, ceasing its travel and leaving me in the still moments of cluelessness, wondering what the fuck I should do.

I look down at the window that lets light in and look down at my cuffs. Maybe I could crack the window with the cuffs.

I set my jaw tightly and swim down, determined. I need to do this quick before I drown.

I let the cuffs drag me down until I reach the window, finally kicking to keep myself floating in the water and I swim to the window slowly. I see the guard standing in front of the window, along with the other scientists that joined her. Farther ahead, I see all the other scientists occupied with their monitors as the leader continues watch over what's happening. I glare at her as I raise my arms to bring the metal restraints down onto the glass and strike the glass as hard as I can. Considering I'm in water, it's not that hard and I don't even scratch the glass. I grit my teeth, baring my teeth and grunting as I bring my hands down on the glass. Bubble escape from between my teeth and I close my mouth in alarm. I need to keep as much air in as I can.

I stare at the guard and the scientists. They're talking to each other, nervous as I bring the metal down onto the glass once more. I growl in frustration. The resistance of the water is making this so much fucking harder!

I grit my teeth in irritation as I begin to wildly hit the glass with the clamps, scratching it just a little bit but remaining largely unsuccessful.

My lungs start to burn after maybe the _thousandth_ time I hit the glass and I look around, searching for some kind of opening. I try to swim to the other side of the tank, hoping to find at least something but the walls of this tank are frustratingly smooth, empty of any kind of aid or help.

I look around, my lungs still burning. Maybe something in the ceiling could help.

I start to swim upward but the weight of the clamp suddenly starts to get heavier and it seems more insistent on dragging me down than before. The weight is something I battle with as I try to propel myself up with my legs.

My body feels like it's traveling through molasses as I try to make my way up. I look around. How long have I been here again? It feels like minutes. My breathing capacity has never been strong.

I shake my head, ignoring that and keeping my mouth sealed while my lungs burn, aching for oxygen. I need to get up there. I need to at least find something to get that damn door open.

I focus on the roof of the tank, fighting against the weight at my wrists.

The edges of my vision begin to get darker and I shake my head, trying to clear out the darkness and ignoring the burning of my lungs, that slowly creeping into my chest and muscles.

The weight of the clamps start to drag me down faster than I'm swimming up. I kick harder, trying to gain the extra distance but the burning in my lungs has reached my legs and my abdomen and the burning in the lungs has escalated to melting.

I start to grow desperate as I kick harder, not even in a certain rhythm, which I recognize that is isn't helping me swim farther up but I can't bring myself to care about that. Kicking harder makes me feel like I'm running. It would be very nice to be able to run away from this problem.

Sinking lower and lower with thrashing limbs, the darkness of my vision starts to grown as I sink. My cheeks are puffed up with the air I'm trying to store but it's escaping in sparse bubbles. I watch them rise to the top of the tank and wonder if you can see tears when you're under water because I know that I am crying right now.

I feel my feet touch the ground of the tank and I perk up, looking down. Maybe there's something down here that can help.

I let the clamp hit the ground and then move around with minimal effort because trying to stay up hurts too much. I growl when I see that the ground is just as empty as the damn walls.

I stay there for a moment as my vision begins to darken, wondering what I should do when I just decide to release all my air. Fuck it. I don't want to keep being a lab rat for these sick people. I won't give this world the satisfaction of becoming their Wolverine. I briefly contemplate whether Logan can die of drowning but throw that thought away. I'm not _exactly_ like Logan, and quite frankly, I hope that I'm not. In fact, I'm sure that I'm not. Because I'm very sure that this sensation of losing consciousness, along with the burning of my lungs combined with the icy coldness setting in my body, is death. I smile. I wonder if this is what Yasmen felt, fainting at that mountain.

I finally close my eyes, waiting for the bright, comforting lights of the heavens or for the burning flames of hell.

What I get is the back of my head hitting grate and my back feeling the cold shock of metal as I'm yanked out of the water. I cough, the water in my lungs causing difficulty in breathing. I cough once more, feeling the water come up and I twist, hunching over to spit the water out of my mouth.

I open my eyes seeing dark metal grate beneath me and legs kneeling beside me.

"She's awake. Breathing now."

I cough harder, emptying my lungs of the water and inhaling deeply. I look up, seeing the guard with her gun trained on me and the scientists taking notes.

"Good," a voice announces from some kind of speaker in the room. I look around and finally find the scientist in her place, back inside the monitor room, standing with crossed arms. She's looking at me and then looks at the people above me. "Put her back in. Take her out after ten minutes of no heartbeat."


	2. Chapter 2

**So I noticed that this chapter got kinda fucked up and full of code-speak and stuff and it was all a mess. I think that I edited the chapter a little bit in the app editing feature, so maybe it messes up the way it's presented in the web page? I don't know, but I hope this one comes out fine.**

 **And because someone reminded me that not everyone grew up speaking Spanish and I guess it's kinda shitty to have you guys open up another page to look up the translation of the Spanish in here, I guess I'll leave the translations in the end.**

I wish I could say that the rest of my time spent here is pleasant. It isn't. It's mostly more pain, more suffering. Most of the experiments are hot, or dealing with something that burns. They dump me in water that would progressively warm up to the boiling point, and other times they would heat up my bones and I could feel every single organ in my body because they would scream in protest at the temperature. One time, they fried my bones after drilling metal spikes into them and electrocuting the metal. They focused a lot on my bones, seeing how long it would take for it to grow back after they would open me up and close me back up again. I almost feel like it's necessary to say that anesthesia doesn't work on me because of these regenerative abilities that are keeping me alive.

They like to take my claws out a lot. It was the first time that they removed a claw that I found out they grow back. They have my first set of claws in some room somewhere. Maybe Cornelius is keeping them as a trophy or something, but it doesn't matter. I regrew them. Yet somehow, I couldn't help but feel so violated when I saw them rip out my claws and take them away while I was left strapped to the table, screams receding as my body healed from the loss.

One thing that I've heard one scientist talk about a lot of is how, after completing the procedure, my claws in my arms might not be coated and bonded properly. They suggested precoating them or moving one of the bones to my foot for each pair. They say that it would resolve the issue and also make me a more lethal and effective weapon. They've also raised concerns about my body rejecting the new element in the system. I can only assume that they're talking about the adamantium or vibranium that they'll use. Since this is Marvel and not Fox, I'll assume that they'll use vibranium.

I think back to Laura. I wonder if she was born with the claw in her foot or if sick fuckers like these did it to her.

The strangest thing is that, somehow, the worst thing that they're doing to me is just not using my name.

For all that matters to the scientists, I am a weapon. They refer to me as the weapon and call be Subject 23. I haven't heard my own name in close to a month. I'm just passed around like some kind of animal.

I sit here in my room, my head leaning up against the wall and staring into space, my bare neck exposed to the elements. They shaved my head today. I run my hand over my scalp, feeling the short bristles of hair left to cover my head. I remember seeing the pastel pink tresses fall to the ground in sadness. Looking at my hair was comforting. The color reassured me that there was another world, one more beautiful and colorful. One that is nurturing, besides the grey scale torture of this place.

I close my eyes, tense and shaking at the turmoil within me. I wish I had my hair.

I look down at my arm and let out a deep shaky breath, focusing on the never ending lines of the Celtic knot tattooed on my wrist. Staring at the black lines, I begin to wish that I told the artist to color the flowers. I feel tears prick my eyes as I focus on the flowers surrounding the symbol. I wonder if _mi ama_ thinks I'm dead.

I suppose that the tattoos will serve the same purpose that my hair did. I just hope that they don't remove them. Cold chills run down my form in terror at the thought of them removing my tattoos. I would be so bare of anything from my past if they do that. That would hurt me more than the torture that they've been performing on me, shouting at me and showing me their cause and all its benefits.

They've quickly discovered that I don't exist here. And because of that inconvenience, they have no leverage that exists in the form of family. That doesn't keep them from taking me to the Weapon X labs in a different wing of the structure I'm in.

I remember the first day that I was taken to the Weapon X area to live.

I was taken from my dank, stuffy cell while I was in my cot. I knocked out maybe two guards before they managed to overpower me. I was taken out and led past many doors and halls to finally approach one particular door. It was all the way at the end of this unfamiliar hall. It seemed to be leading to another building structure because I saw that, even though it was opaque, beyond the glass is a bridge of some kind. The words on the door made my stomach drop because they're the words I've been dreading to see.

Weapon X.

I began to back up until I felt the barrel of the guns pressed against my back. They pushed me forward and I forced myself to step forward with their direction. The leading guard took out a card from his breast pocket and swiped it over a card reader beside the door. I bit my lip in anxiety as the door opens and I'm led inside. Inside was a large room. The ceiling was maybe ten feet above us but below was a whole training center full of sparring soldiers and obstacle courses.

We were maybe forty feet above them and I looked down in wonder at the amount of soldiers beneath us with people in different suits. The soldiers were wearing the regular camo green and tan but the few other people were wearing black combat suits. All the people in the black suits were of varying age between twenty and maybe thirty years old. There's not a lot. Twenty-eight in total, as of now. I am the twenty-third. I frown at the thought even now. They're the other candidates for Weapon X. My interaction with them is sparse but when they're waiting for instruction or in line to spar, they look like empty shells, awaiting the next command. I take a moment to remember their faces, seeing the void behind their eyes and the lack of warmth that most people have.

 _I'm going to be like that if I stay longer_. _An empty shell of a soldier, doing every order I've been told to do._

I feel my brows furrow in discomfort as one burning memory is replayed vividly in my mind. As I was walking along the catwalk, spying down upon the sparring groups, one man in a black suit-a man I know now as Weapon X-13-was pinned against two men. A whistle was blown and the two attacked him. X-13 immediately kicked one away, sending him flying and focused the majority of his strikes on the one he left standing. Hits were exchanged between the two, the man in the black suit seeming to have the upper hand. His hands were quick and it was hard to catch his three strikes to the hip, armpit, and the shoulder to dislocate the man's arm. The soldier cried out in pain, dropping to his knees and the man spun around, kicking the soldier in the face and knocking him out. I almost looked away, assuming the fight to be over, when I saw the other man that he kicked away first run at him. I kept watching with wide eyes as a knife embedded itself into the man's pectoral. I stared at the scene with furrowed brows as X-13 simply grabbed the man's arm and reached for his throat, lifting him and then throwing him to the ground with pure strength. I almost gasped but it seems as though the experiments I've been put through have left me stunted in expressing emotions physically. I'm tempted to roll my eyes at that. As if I already wasn't.

I was thrown in my new cell which, I'll admit is roomier and it has a sink, but a cell is a cell.

A few minutes later, one woman dressed in scrubs brought in a folded pair of black pants and a black shirt. It's the uniform that the Weapon X's wear.

I put them on and I was later taken out of the cell. I know the route now. Am very familiar with it at this point since I'm taken through it close to every day. I briefly think about how it would be useful for escaping. I think I remember seeing a window while I was being waterboarded and bombarded with repetitive propaganda. I frown. It didn't seem that big though. I don't think I would be able to fit through it. I'm not exactly known for my sleek frame.

I breathe deeply, leaning my head back to stare up at the ceiling. I wonder if they're gonna torture me and try to brainwash me or push the boundaries of my healing abilities more today. It's been a somewhat consistent schedule that they waterboard me one day, discuss the benefits of working for them and the good that they do-How loyalty to them will grant me true freedom or some bullshit like that- the next, and then take me out to be experimented on the day after.

I remember the first time I was waterboarded in vivid detail.

I was taken out and I injured three guards, probably.

I was dragged to the bottom floor and I remember seeing them open the door. The walls of the hallway were smooth concrete, clean to the eye. The door, however, was grimy and stained. It was a few shades darker than the wall and grew a brown tint. It creaked loudly when the door was opened.

The room was dark, one single lamp stuck to the ceiling, directly above a table with leather straps. Beside the table are two men dressed in dark uniforms and one picks up a towel that was draped on the edge of the table. It clings to the man's hand, draping over it, outlining his thumb and forefinger perfectly. I could tell that it was soaked, dunked in water or at least damp. The floor beneath the table was slick with water and a bucket sits next to the man with the towel.

They don't talk at all at first. If they do, it's short, curt demands and instructions from one person to another as they force me down onto the table, long enough to strap me down and one man places the towel over my face. It's damp and it smells like sweat and saliva. This had been used before.

I thrashed wildly when they began to lean me back with my head moving closer to the ground. I shouted, begging and demanding to be let go. I knew it was all in vain. All I tried to do was stall for time but, ultimately, the bucket was filled and its contents were thrown on my face with the towel leaving me no room to breathe fresh air and the angle I'm tilted in allowing the water to fill my nose and throat. It doesn't go past the throat into the lungs but it feels like I'm drowning.

I panicked, the sensation of being unable to breath suffocating me and making me cough and scream with a garbled voice.

They then remove the towel and they flip the table to the side. The water leaves my nostrils and throat and I cough violently, gagging as I try to get rid of the water. The water splashes on the floor beneath me and I take deep breaths as words begin to leave one particular man's lips.

 _You are Weapon X. Your purpose is to serve Hydra. You must perform every command Hydra gives you to perfection. Hail Hydra_.

That, among other lines of bullshit about me being Weapon X and their number one asset, is one of the many things that they repeat over and over to me while I'm breathing and recuperating from the shock.

"Fuck you! Fucking Hydra-" I manage to hiss before they punch me face. I groan as my face aches and blood runs down my nose. I taste blood in my mouth, the copper liquid coating my taste buds. They lie me back to place the towel over my head and dump more freezing water on my face, into my nose and mouth.

I don't know how long it took for them to finally release me. It felt like hours of drowning, despite barely being able to breathe. I was turned and the water finally left my mouth and nose and I was able to breathe.

 _You are Weapon X. It is an honor to serve Hydra. You are one of Hydra's greatest assets._

I was then returned to my room and I fell asleep-or passed out-, exhausted.

This place is fucking Hydra. They were exposed in two thousand fourteen but these guys are still active somehow. It figures that this place is Hydra, though. What other place would abduct innocent civilians and torture them like they do to me? And of course, I _would_ be one of their victims.

I jump at the sound of the door of my cell opening and my eyes dart to look for the guards while my hands clenched into fists, prepared to fight them off.

I see the woman in scrubs from the first day and her tray with the syringe. I frown. It's just her. Every day since I've been here, they've been giving me these shots. The liquid inside the syringe is grey and muddy and I could feel whatever it is inside my system flow through my body for a while after it's been injected. At this point I just assume that it's poison and I am encouraging it to fucking finish it's job! I would be held down the first few times that she would give me the injections but after realizing that it doesn't kill me or anything, I stopped fighting it. So far, it's the least painful thing this place has in store for me.

I watch her as she is quick about kneeling next to me and lifting my elbow, adjusting it to inject the needle into the soft part of the elbow joint. I've tried to make conversation with her, but she refuses to even hum in response to me. Her visits are the most empty, emotionless interactions I've ever had with a human before in my life. At least with scientists, there is curiosity and duty which leads to questions which leads to some degree of interaction. This woman is almost like a ghost.

She makes quick work of pressing down on the plunger and then she spirits herself out of the cell, closing the metal door with a _clang_ behind her. I watch after her, long after the metal door is slammed shut and I look away after a few minutes. I sigh, feeling fatigue wash over me. I move to my feet slowly, walking to my bunk with my bare feet scuffing the floor. I lie back and close my eyes, falling into sleep and bright days of bonfires and smiles. I wake up to the meaty smell of my breakfast. I open my eyes as I take a deep breath and sit up slowly. I look over to the platform extending from the slot that they use to put my food through and see a silver plate with a bologna sandwich and rice, along with a spoon. I have been eating this exact meal for close to three months. Every day. Eighty-seven says.

I stand, moving to the door and taking the plate and spoon. I move to the sink and I pick up the plastic cup that I found in here. To drink, I serve myself water from the sink with my meals. I twist the rusty knob with the hand holding the cup and the water runs. I fill up the cup halfway before turning the knob back and turning the water off. The water looks foggy and full of impurities. Well, maybe ingesting a parasite or lead will kill me before whatever Nurse Poison has been injecting into my bloodstream will.

I move to my bed and take a seat, crossing my legs and placing the plate in my lap. I take a sip of the water that tastes way too metallic to be safe before putting it down on the firm mattress and lifting the bologna sandwich to my mouth, taking a bite. The amount of times that I've eaten the same sandwich have practically made my taste buds numb. The sandwich is tasteless at this point.

I finish the sandwich quickly before taking another drink of water and scooping rice into my mouth with the spoon. Finishing off the plate, I set it down before gulping the rest of my water down. I place the plate back onto the platform and get another drink of water before leaving the cup on the sink and sitting back down on the floor and thinking about the days spent here, wondering if they're the same as they are in my world if it's longer in my world, which I hope to god it's not.

Thinking back to home, I feel my eyes start to tear up. I hope to god mami hasn't broken down or anything. I hope that papi doesn't fall back on his gambling. I hope that my sisters are still continuing with their school. I think back to Kayla and wonder if she's doing alright. I hug myself, longing for her embrace. Her comforting hugs and kisses. I miss _mi ama_ and her brash, hot temper and watching it clash with _mi apa_ 's laid-back personality. I miss being tackled by my little sisters and telling my family about the movies that I'm gonna make and how I think that I'm starting to be recognized in the Hollywood community because James Wan asked me to help him on a project. And that's, honestly, my _dream_.

I grit my teeth at the thought of all the shit that's happened and how I'm missing out on all the things I could be doing with my life. I can't help but blame some kind of otherworldly, universal power. I growl at the thought of the Multiverse, wondering if it's sentient or anything and if it has anything to do with me.

I clench my hands and tremble at the rage that courses through me. I have tantrums like these a lot. I always have the urge to punch something before I force the rage down and take a deep breath, calming down. I try my best to suppress the rage. I even feel my mouth twist into a snarl as my nose twitches. My breathing gets more shallow and I growl, standing and pacing.

Why does all this shit happen to me? Why me? I don't get it? Why am I just some kind of fucking pawn in this world? I haven't been able to do what I've planned since I got here! I grimace when I think about it and realize that that's been my life so far. Shit hitting the fan when I try to do something and then more shit coming along to make things worse for me.

First of all, I get here. I'm literally dumped in the middle of this fucking world. I probably didn't even fall off of that damn building they say I did. I probably fell from the sky, hundreds of feet before landing on the ground, ending up as the broken mess Dr. Emerson treated.

And life couldn't stop fucking me over there. It had to give me fucking _Wolverine_ claws. And I bet you that that's what brought these Hydra assholes to the hospital. The claws and the healing. Ever since I got here, there have been three more recruits, just as lucid yet just as broken. They've probably searched for any headline or news story of some kind of miracle recovery from injuries.

So there they show up at my hospital and kill Dr. Emerson then abduct me.

I take a deep, shaky breath. I try to breathe in as slowly as I can, remembering that I would use this breathing technique frequently back home to control my emotions and tantrums. I lift my hands, trying to raise them and lower them in tandem with my breathing but I feel them shake with rage. My tense muscles refuse to allow me to relax in my emotional turmoil. I feel the burning within me aching and demanding release. I would hear this call many times back at home, ever since the death of my _abuelito_ and my sister. But I was _always_ able to squash those angry, borderline _violent_ urges to lash out.

My self control seems to have been left behind, along with my old home.

My tense muscles force my hands to clench into fists and my body still trembles with the intensity of my rage. I look down at my fists, clenching the right one and pushing out my claws. I don't bleed as much anymore. I just feel them push roughly past my wrist bones and watch them pierce through my skin, not even wincing because I've felt so much worse now.

Staring at them, I feel my nostrils flare. These things have ruined my life. The claws. The healing. They brought them to me. I never asked for this shit! I was a child when I wanted super powers and wished to save the world. But now that I had a life, now that I had a clear, bright future ahead of me, life decides bring me _here_! It's almost a mockery of my past hopes and dreams. I glower at the claws, hating them for all that they represent.

I reach out, grabbing the closest bone and pull hard.

Waves of pain rip through my hand in protest and I cry out in agony, my hand nearly slipping because blood is beginning to ooze out of the base of the claw. But I don't care. I hate these things so much. They're the reason I'm here, along with this damn healing ability. I could be looking for my family. I could've been home by now! I could've been at least happy never knowing the kind of things that go on in a place like this!

Screaming out, I finally feel the base of the claw give out and I scream, falling to my side and crying, sobbing into my arm as my right hand twitches in pain, throbbing with my claws still protruding from it. The bloody claw is still in my hand and I throw it against the wall opposite to me as I sob. I can't even get lost in the pain and try to feel anything. Even right now, the pain is quickly fading and I can feel the bone in my arm, regrowing at this moment, like the other times I've felt angry and distraught enough to do this. It's a taunting curse. Laughing in my face that it's still here and it's not going away.

I lie there, sobbing until I have no more tears to cry.

I don't know how long I stay there, wallowing in my pity party, but it must've been longer than a day because the door to my cell is opened again and I'm picked up.

I scream as I kick at them, resisting as best as I could in the air with all my limbs held up. I extend my claws with a grunt, twisting my wrists to try to cut into their arms and one guard flinches, losing their grip. I yank my hand out and I slash at the arm of the man holding my other arm, piercing the flesh of their forearm. I fall on my back I'm let go, my legs still held up tightly. I yank at them roughly, managing to yank one out but the other is still trapped. I kick the face of that guard and one is brave enough to jump on top of me and grab my wrists, attempting to hold them down.

I flip us over quickly, pulling my arm back and preparing to stab them in their stupid fucking face.

Arm raised, ready to shoot forward in frustration and rage, focused on their exposed mouth and neck when an internal alarm rings through my mind painfully.

What the fuck am I doing?

The shock causes me to freeze with my arm still poised to strike. Seconds stretch as my breath escapes me, the thought of killing another man making my blood run cold. I grimace, my nostrils flaring and my face twisting into a frustrated snarl.

I can't do it. I fucking can't. I force my claws to retreat back into my arms before I sit back, awaiting the cuffs.

I feel my arms be pressed together before my wrists are clamped down with cuffs behind my back. My feet are let down before hands grab my upper arms and push me forward roughly. They used the cuffs with the claw guards on them, a thick sheet of metal to prevent me from using my claws. I grimace, begrudgingly following their implied directions as they surround me in a circle.

I glare at their backs as they lead me out of the cell rooms and down the stairwell. We go down about three floors before we enter one door with a bunch of rooms on either side. I grimace. They're the discussion rooms, the rooms where they try to get me to sympathize to their cause.

I walk into my room, room 15, and my eyes fall on the familiar form of Mr. Llamaka. He's a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair all over the sides of his head. His bald crown is truly something of beauty. He's the man that performs the more gentle side of their efforts to recruit me. I usually see him after being waterboarded.

He sees me and smiles, pushing the bridge of his glasses further up his face as he flashes his crooked teeth.

"Good morning, Subject 23," he tells me as I approach the table. My eyes linger on the file and papers that are stacked before him before they're drawn to a small bag. I ignore the bag, looking at the file. I shrug internally. He's shown me papers before, most of them dealing with the corporations and allies of Essex Corporation and Hydra; how this benefits the world and the "people that really matter". Translation: all the rich, pro-nazi people and "forward-thinking" scientists. Sometimes they even try to bribe me. They've offered thousands to provide for me _monthly_ but I shut it down pretty quickly with a quick "fuck off", though I am ashamed to admit that I considered it.

I plop down on the metal seat at the table, making sure to make extra noise and to knock on the table, making it jerk forward and scuffle the files a bit.

Mr. Llamaka chuckles. He's always found my behavior amusing. "So, how was your sleep?"

I don't answer, merely staring at him. He smiles before, reorganizing his papers. "Well, I hope you slept well." He then glances at the bag beside him. "I do have a surprise for you today, Subject 23."

I frown at his words before he moves the small stack of papers to the side and he pulls on the drawstring of the bag beside him, sliding it in front of him. He opens it and reaches in. He takes out something thin and black. Shiny as well. I frown, looking at it before he sets it down. My heart skips a beat.

It's my phone.

He reaches into the bag again and he pulls out my shoes as well as my old clothes.

I sit stiffly in my chair, my spine stick straight as my eyes stare at all the items. I thought that these were at the hospital. "I assume that you recognize these items," Mr. Llamaka says.

I glare at him. "How did you get these?"

Mr. Llamaka shrugs, looking almost gracious. "We've always had them. I just asked for them to give you a bit of motivation to cooperate more willingly."

I look at my phone and notice the clean, smooth surface. "I thought it was cracked…"

Mr. Llamaka shakes his head and grabs my phone, holding it up and running a hand over its smooth screen. "We saved the screen as well as fixed any internal problems. We reserved every single bit of data from your phone. Your pictures, your music, your books. You have quite a lot." he lists.

I sit forward. "Why?"

He simply smiles before he stands. "Walk with me."

I frown, staring at him as he rounds the table, walking behind me. I turn in my seat, my eyes darting between him and my phone. He nods for me to follow him, urging me on.

I reluctantly stand, slowly getting to my feet and stepping closer to him as he has the guards move aside. I'm surprised to see him open the door to the room and step out. I halt in my spot, shocked at his action before he turns, waving me over.

My frown deepens as I follow him out, chewing on my cheek in confusion. What the hell is he doing? He leads me down the hall and I'm not unaware of the trailing guards behind us.

"You see, Subject 23, we are in need of help," he tells me as he uses hand gestures to further make his point. I just stare at my phone within his grasp as we walk. Does it really still have my music? "We have been searching for someone who can help us with fighting our enemies. Our enemies are very powerful and very relentless. Merciless opponents we are up against." We reach the end of the hall and he opens the door. We're out in the stairwell and he starts to lead me upstairs.

I raise a brow at his words. "Would these opponents happen to be the Avengers?"

Mr. Llamaka nods. "Amongst others…" he then makes an expression of minor disgust. "But the Avengers are false idols. Promoting the corrupt society we live in, breaking the rules we make to protect."

I narrow my eyes at him as we round one turn in the stairwell, making it to the next set. "What rules?"

Mr. Llamaka looks at me. "You remember what I told you last time we met?"

I grimace at the fact that I do remember. "Yeah."

"We are the ones that run the world." he says with a nod. "You see, we had influence before, but we recently lost that influence. We created rules to protect the world and now there is no one to uphold those rules because of the so-called _Earth's Mightiest Heroes_."

I raise my brows at Mr. Llamaka. I've never heard him so passionate about something and it shows in his disgust.

"By the way, is there any song you would like to listen to?" he asks.

I frown, looking at him as he holds up my phone and presses the on button. He frowns when the screen doesn't light up right away. He slows in his pace, confused as he presses the button again. I stare at him, unsure of what to do. Should I tell him? It seems kind of stupid to tell the man who's trying to brainwash you how to turn your phone on to play a song.

I sigh as I watch him finally press and hold the button and the screen lights up. "Ha!"

I struggle to not groan as he comes across my lock screen. He looks at me. "Would you like to?"

I shake my head. I don't want to listen to any song here. It would corrupt the memories of the music.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

I nod.

He nods. I expect him to put the phone back in his pocket or something but he instead places it between my two palms. I gasp, looking up at Mr. Llamaka with wide eyes. "Well, you can ask me any time to play music. I'm sure it will be of great comfort later today."

I look at him and can't help but be very confused with what he's doing today. Why is he taking me on a walk? Why did he bring me my phone? What would this achieve?

We reach the top of the next staircase and he smiles. "You must be confused over my intentions here. I want to let you know that my intentions are only to choose what's best for you. You are not our enemy," he tells me with a gentle smile. "Nor are we yours."

I look at him as I almost miss a step. Yeah. As if Hydra is everyone's friend.

The memories of water filling my nose and my throat makes me shiver. I don't know if Mr. Llamaka saw this or not but he continues.

"You will only be able to have it for an hour before each meal."

I feel a lump in my throat. That's not enough. That's definitely not enough for me. But I bite my tongue, fear of permanently being separated by my phone making me think twice about protesting.

I nod weakly and Mr. Llamaka smiles.

We continue up the steps as I feel the moisture in my cheeks start to slowly dry, creating a tight layer of dried tears cooling my heated skin.

"It has been a pleasure speaking with you today, Subject 23," he tells me, stopping in his step abruptly. I frown, realizing that we're at the fifth level, where all the cells are. "I look forward to seeing you again."

With that, one guard steps forward ahead of me and opens the door. They're taking me back to my cell.

I step back into the open door and I'm led through the hall. "Oh. Subject 23?"

Mr. Llamaka's voice grates against my ears as I struggle to turn around with a racing heart, eager to see pictures of my loved ones and listen to Fallout Boy and Imagine Dragons once more. All my emo music would be back. "Try not to lash out when they take your phone back," he says with warning eyes. "It would be a shame to have to wipe such precious memories from its hard drive."

The words cut into my soul with uninhibited malice. Fear and desperation makes me nod eagerly, completely okay with refusing to fight for an hour of contact with precious memories and familiar sound. He smiles and leaves with a final nod.

I'm taken to the cell and I turn away from the guard immediately after having my cuffs removed.

I fall into the bed, ignoring the way that my elbows collide hard with the thinned mattress. They would certainly be bruised if my body didn't repair itself so quickly.

I press the power button and the screen comes alive. I press my thumb to the home key and wait in anticipation for the screen to be unlocked.

The lock screen clears up, revealing my default themed phone screen and my thumb immediately hovers over the gallery button. I stop for a moment, my breath stuck in my throat as a ball forms and tears prick my eyes. It's been at least two months since I've been gone. I wonder what they're doing. What they must be thinking. Kayla would've called them by now and she might even be with tia Veri since her and my aunt were pretty close. I look down at my left hand and ball it up. I doubt they would ever come up with what's really happening to me. It might come up as a joke but they'd never take it seriously.

I click on the tab and wait with bated breath as the app opens up and my pictures load up into the grid.

I keep an eye on the empty white box at the top of the left side before it finally loads and I suck in a breath, the ball in my throat tightening painfully. I cover my mouth to muffle a sob as it escapes my mouth before breathing in as slow as I can to control my noises. I don't attempt to stop the flow of tears going down my cheeks and slipping underneath my fingers over my mouth. I taste the salt and sadness as I take in the picture with a pitiful smile as I let out a joyful laugh.

It's Kayla. I remember laying down on the couch as she sat across from me. I wasn't working and she didn't have classes so we stayed in our pj's and ate popcorn and chips while watching Netflix and I took this picture while she is opening her mouth wide, trying to fit a handful of popcorn into it. I let out a sob as my eyes scan her tank top clad form. She isn't even wearing pants. It's a very hilarious shot and it brings me joy and happiness even now, watching her stuff her face with her tangled, green hair in a ponytail and her legs intertwined with mine. It does nothing to make her seem less beautiful.

I touch the screen, making the picture fill up the screen while longing for her smile and her jokes. Her jokes are certainly more lighthearted than mine are and that's what I need. A light to my darkness. Because I am pretty fucked up..

I smile when I think about her reaction to me taking her picture. She was mortified.

I hesitate to switch to the next picture, never wanting to look away from her but then think about the rest of my family. I could see my sisters and mom again. And I still have pictures of my older sister in the storage app. I take a deep breath, biting my lower lip as I follow the lines of her form, committing it to memory before swiping right, moving on to the next picture.

The next one is a picture of me with my cousin's kid, Javier. His baby fat and innocent eyes make me tear up. I wonder if I'll ever be able to see him grow up. I look at myself and I feel a shock travel straight to my core. My pastel hair falls over my ear as the buzzed side of my head splits the dark, natural brown from the light pink. I look at me with my glasses and I press a hand to the edge of my eye, missing the times when I would do that and push my glasses up instead of meeting are flesh. I sigh, wondering how I look now. Dirty, bald and spikes jutting out of my fists. I skip to the next picture and I smile, another tear falling from my eyes. It's Ashley with Javier and her asshole husband, Giovanni. He's a dick but she loves him, I guess. I wonder if I'll ever be there for her when he inevitably cheats on her. I ignore the subject and focus on Ashley, a slow smile making my cheeks hurt at the thought of all the times we spent together. Getting my first tattoo, getting piercings, her shaving my head until college where I had my awkward roommate turned girlfriend do it. I smile at the next few shots of Ashley with her son and sisters, Veronica and Azalia. I memorize every face and mole that the sisters and my nephew have before being interrupted by a few pictures of the new apartment Kayla and I were thinking about moving into. I skip over those and I suck in a breath at the sight of the selfie my mom took with Alia and I.

I smile at my sister's face. She's always been an open book. We visited her at Stanford and we caught her by surprise, since her brass hair wasn't washed and pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing her school sweatshirt and leggings. Her sparkling eyes and bright smile clearly indicate her happiness. I press my lips together while whimpering. I hope she doesn't leave school because I've gone missing. She's a junior medical student. Dropping out would be terrible for her.

My eyes move to _mami_ and the tears fall freely. My mouth forms a broken smile as I think about her and her obsession with looking young. I'll admit, she looks good for being fifty-four but I never really have the heart to tell her that though she looks good, she doesn't look thirty anymore.

I let out a broken chuckle at the thought when I hear the cell door click and creak open. I sit straight up and move my arm up, wiping my wet cheeks with my sleeve. I look over and feel my stomach sink. No. They can't take my phone back yet. It hasn't even been an hour. I haven't even listened to music yet!

"No, no," I beg as the guards step forward. I see the guard reach out and I clutch the phone to my chest while scooting back. I raise my hand and prepare to stab the fucker when I think back to Mr Llamaka's warning. Don't fight or the memories are gone.

I take a deep breath, holding the tears in painfully while holding my phone out. The guards seem surprised by my submissive cooperation. They stand there for a moment before taking my phone and turning.

I lean back, bringing my arms around me and shivering. It didn't even feel like a fucking hour…

I don't even look up when he lady comes in and injects the dose of poison she gives me.

I sleep with dried tears and longing in my heart before being woken up by the cell door opening and guards flooding the room. I jump to my feet from my bunk and I would marvel at my reaction time if it weren't for the bullet's piercing my arms and legs before swinging wildly at the armed people. They do, eventually, subdue me but I leave close to each one of them with at least a new bruise that they will be feeling tomorrow.

I frown when I'm taken up a floor and realize that today is operation day. Oh joy.

I punch and kick maybe three guards before they drag me to a lab to discover that I can survive in an airtight room full of mustard gas for an hour! I frown. This whole healing thing has been a real pain in the ass. It felt like I was choking on prickly air while my lungs were continuously deteriorating and rebuilding themselves. My skin peeled off completely before reconstructing itself.

I eat my lunch before awaiting my hour with my phone. Mr. Llamaka did tell me that I would get to have it daily right?

I hear the click of the cell door and I look over eagerly but frown when I only see the poison lady.

I frown as she holds my arm. It really did not even feel like a fucking hour of having my phone. I only saw a handful of pictures. I grit my teeth bitterly at the thought of them holding it back on purpose. I could always ask what the hell is up? But if I bring it up, they might decide that that's reason enough to destroy my phone. Well, they'll actually wipe the system clean but if they do that, they might as well destroy it because it would be useless to me with no memories inside it.

I grimace and lean my head against the wall. I'll probably get it next time I meet Mr. Llamaka.

I wake up, eat and sleep for two more days, wondering why I haven't been doing anything for the past couple days. It makes me tense, taut as a bow string, awaiting some sort of attack or attempt on my life.

It's the third day that I start to get annoyed.

Dammit. I guess the time with my phone was some sort of twisted form of torture. A cruel sliver of hope.

I glare at them as they lead me through the halls, hands gripping my shoulders tightly to prevent me from running. Their grip would definitely be bruising if I didn't heal so damn quick.

We go down two floors and I realize that I'm going to be seeing Mr. Llamaka.

I roll my eyes once we open the doors and Mr. Llamaka is there with a disappointed expression on his face. I'm forced down and I see Mr. Llamaka take a deep breath. He reaches in his pocket and I perk up, catching a glimpse of the familiar black shape of my phone. I sit with my spine stick straight.

He places the phone on the table and I sit forward, awaiting his stupid spiel about their organization and the benefits of their work for the world and stuff. I wait with my hands resting on the chair.

He pushes the frame of his glasses further up his nose with a sigh and weaves his fingers together atop the table. "I must say, Subject 23, I thought that you understood the terms of our agreement."

I glare at him. "Terms? Terms of what?"

He lets out a deep breath. "The terms of having your phone with you. I'm sure you've noticed that you haven't had your phone the past few days."

I nod with a frown. So I was right that I should've been given the phone every day. "Yeah, I didn't get my phone." My gaze turns cold.

"It was agreed that you were to cooperate with our forces," he tells me.

I glare at him with a frown. "When was that agreed?"

He sighs. "I suppose that we should speak of the terms to the access of your personal belongings more thoroughly," he brings a drawstring bag on top of the table and I look at it. It's the same bag from before. The one with my clothes. "You see every time that you have a meal, you will have the opportunity to have your phone," he tells me. "But only if you cooperate with the guards and scientists," he tells me. I almost scoff. Of course. Why didn't I think before that there was a catch to the _generous_ opportunity to have my personal possessions at my disposal? "Your clothes will be given to you when you prove your loyalty. When you have proven yourself, you will be rewarded."

I take a deep breath, pressing my mouth in a tight line while my nostrils flare in annoyance. Fuck. "So, you're saying that I go with the guards to wherever I need to go peacefully, I get phone time."

He nods, a small smile on his lips. "Precisely. So you understand the terms now?"

I stare at him. _Yes._

 _I stop fighting altogether._

I don't know why I'm so surprised. This shouldn't have caught me so off-guard. The thought of doing that makes a sick feeling in my stomach spread to my arms and legs making me feel unsettled with the thought. I would have to stop resisting every time they take me out of my cell to take me to a lab where they will burn me, unwind me, open me up and close me back up. I shiver at the thought. It's only too natural to fight when they try to take me.

Well, I suppose is was a bit much to expect him to give me the phone with how uncooperative I'm being.

Then my mind goes to the events after I fight. They have backup from outside the room burst in with shields and knock me to the floor. Five people then proceed to hold me down and I'm cuffed. I'm then physically held and forced into a lab where they proceed to do whatever the fuck they want with me.

 _Even if you fight, the results are still the same. It's just an endless, redundant cycle._

It's a depressing thought. Even now I sink in my chair as I stare into space, Mr. Llamaka awaiting my answer.

"I suppose that since you did not understand the full extent of our agreement, you can be taken back to your room with your phone and have it before your dinner today. But remember," Mr. Llamaka says. "Cooperate. Cooperation is key."

I look at him and I take a resigned breath before nodding reluctantly.

"Good. Now on with the discussion for today," he begins.

I bear the discussion with Mr. Llamaka while eagerly awaiting my deserved time with my phone. Unfortunately, the hour and a half passes like molasses since he makes me rather participative in his discussion, asking my opinion and questions to things he's mentioned previously, making sure that I listened. I play extra nice so that I'd be sure to get my phone.

As promised, I'm given the phone when I return to my cell. The door closes behind me after they release me from the cuffs and I fall into the bunk of my bed, turning the phone on and briefly noting the time.

It's four thirty-seven.

I bite my lower lip in nervousness as my thumb goes to press the gallery app before I remember one of the biggest regrets I had when they first took my phone away.

I'm quick to change directions and make a beeline for the music app and I click it, opening it up.

I smile at the sight of the massive list of songs before clicking a song. I don't even care which song. I just want to listen to a fucking song.

Beautiful noise and voices build into the graceful sound and melody of Camila's " _Abrazame"_ , one of the songs at the top of my list. I chuckle, feeling tears prick my eyes, completely overjoyed that I get to hear something so wonderful once again.

I take a shaky breath as a grin nearly splits my face in half, my cheeks aching as the muscles strain at creating such an unfamiliar action.

I exit out of the music app, letting it play in the background while going to the gallery and clicking on the picture of my youngest sister, Maria, and I at a Tim Burton themed coffee shop eating one of the bat donuts that they sell. I smile at the sight. You would never think we were sisters, despite sharing the same dark hair.

She definitely inherited most of my mom's physical traits in terms of skin because she is tan as hell, where Alia, Yasmen and I inherited _mi apa's_ light skin. She grew up with the rest of us speaking English so she doesn't know Spanish all that well, yet she literally looks the most Latina out of all of us. Stereotypically speaking anyways.

I smile gently at the memory. She really liked the shop but the food is fucking expensive. I could really only take her there a few times a year since she loves it so much and my other sister can never go with us because her medical student life is so taxing. I sigh sadly. I know they're gonna do great things in life. Well, Maria, not so much...but Alia's on her way to greatness.

I slide to the next picture and it's just pictures of the other food that we had at the cafe like frog soup and cookies of The Nightmare Before Christmas. I frown. I took a lot of pictures of fucking food. I finally stumble upon one of me and my dad planted in his chair, bald and wrinkly now. I smile at the picture, thinking about how he looks standing next to mom. You would think that he was five years older but he's actually a year younger than my mom. I promised my dad to take him all over Europe once I had the money. I smile sadly, feeling my lips tremble and my eyes water before the tears fall quickly. I just started making money so I was never able to take him. I can't give him that from here.

I slide over to the next picture, guilt a heavy pit at the bottom of my stomach for not being able to keep my promise to _mi apa_.

The next picture is a picture of the dogs sitting at _mi apa's_ sides, one of which is my first dog ever. She is….she's ancient. I really don't understand how she's so fucking old. I am twenty-four. I got her when I was five fucking years old. She's blind, mostly deaf and mostly depends on memory to get around places. It took her a while to adjust to living at my apartment with Kayla since she wasn't familiar with the place but she got used to it eventually. I take her to my gym and, since it's a small gym, the owner is okay with it since we know each other pretty well. A lot of regulars like her. She's adorable in an old lady way.

The other dog doesn't really matter.

The next picture is one of _mi ama_ sitting on my dad's lap, both hilarious and gross because they're both laughing and _mi apa_ was complaining about mom's weight. He meant no offence but...he walked right into that argument.

I smile at the picture, cringing at it and swiping left to move on. The next picture is me carrying Kayla bridal style at Universal Studios. I remember taking that picture and almost dropping her. I take in her near-panicked but amused smile as I hold her and my strained face. Yes, I do lift weights, but Jesus Christ, one hundred pounds is not the easiest thing to lift. Especially after I lifted Ashley just before I lifted Kayla. I smile at the conversation that took place.

" _Come on! If you could lift me, you could lift your girlfriend!" Ashley tells me. "I just had a baby! I'm fat as hell!"_

I chuckle, swiping to the next picture and seeing the one I took where I lifted Ashley up. She was definitely heavier, not gonna lie.

I hear the click of the door behind me and my eyes dart to the time.

It's five eighteen.

It _hasn't_ been an hour yet.

I plan to snap at the two guards, prepared to go off on them that it hasn't been an hour and that they're all fucking liars. I catch the sight of greying hair in the sliver of the open door behind the two guards and I freeze when I recognize the glasses of Mr. Llamaka. He's here to make sure I don't act out.

Would he consider criticizing their track of time acting out? Would they keep me from my phone for doing that?

I scoff. I wouldn't put them above that, that's for sure.

I watch with a trembling lip as they grab my phone and turn. I struggle to sit back and watch them leave. They open the door wide, more wide than usual and it's almost taunting. Especially when I see Mr. Llamaka standing there, his hands held together in front of him and watching me intently. He smiles when he sees me stay on the cot, nodding.

"Good, Subject 23. You are learning," he says. "Now keep this up, and your phone privileges will only grow."

He closes the door and I feel my traitorous heart hope that he's telling the truth, my brain reprimanding it for having such naive hope and knowing that it's never going to happen. I'm gonna need to get out of here but I want to do that with my phone. With my memories. Something to remind me that I had a life before. That I was a person. That's all I need to live.

That's all I'll need here.

I sleep and am awoken by the smell of rice and bologne. I'm slightly surprised to find my phone sitting next to the plate.

I grab it eagerly and click on the music icon, opening up my "Chill Music" playlist and listening to it with a smile. This music almost makes me feel like life isn't total shit.

I grab my plate and I settle myself down on the bed after I pour myself a drink in my little cup. I eat my food slowly, the flavor somehow improved with the sound of music soothing my nerves.

I finish my food and scroll through the pictures of more family and more friends, starting from the last pictures taken to the eventually reach the last.

I frown as a thought occurs to me.

Should I see a picture of Yasmen?

She's my sister. My sister who was my best friend and who died when I was fifteen. Something that has left me somewhat emotionally stunted since then…

I look around to where I am, this dank, dark cell in a facility where I'm tortured and being molded into a weapon. I frown bitterly. Someone so beautiful and light shouldn't be tainted with memories of this horrible place.

I shake my head. Not yet. I'll see a picture of her when I escape.

Guards arrive to take the phone and plate away and I let them, deciding to play nice. They didn't let me have it for an hour, either.

I'm taken out maybe half-an-hour later and it's when we go up one level that I know that I'm being taken to be operated on. We get to my room, room 602, and my eyes land on the operating table. I shiver, bracing to be sliced into and opened up.

The main man, Dr. Mangold, is new here. Dr. Fuentes used to be another main man but she's gone who know where. Mangold is a shady area for me. I could smell secrets on him but I can't tell what they are. He's different from Dr. Fuentes. She was very professional and astute; silent when she would examine me and perform surgery and experiments and very hands on. Meanwhile, Mangold here is young and peppy with chronic five o'clock shadow. He likes conversation, even with me "the specimen" and he prefers to have his assistants do everything. Very sparsely does he actually touch me or operate on me himself.

Mangold turns and I get a good look at his face today. He's wearing a stupid medical cap and his face mask is drawn down. He looks up and smiles at the sight of me with the guards.

"Good morning," he greets the guards, checking over me as I stand in the center of the trio. Even with such a short phrase, his Southern accented voice grates on my nerves. I grit my teeth as he circles me in his examination. The way that he simply walks somehow frustrates the shit out of me. "Any updates?"

The guards shake their heads. He looks at me. "And have they been treatin' you right?"

I glare venomously at him and Mangold's only response is a smile. "Get her on the table. We're going to attempt to reconfigure one claw from the upper limbs to her lower limbs."

My heart skips a beat. They're doing that today? I thought I had another month. That's what he fucking said last time he examined me.

"The test subject's?" one doctor asks, though it sounds more like a correction.

"Of course," Mangold says. He gestures to the lab table, which is more like a glorified operation chair, close to a childbirth station, and the guards shove me forward. The doctors take off my shirt and then my pants, because for some reason, they deemed me incapable of undressing myself, and they put a medical gown on me. I learned very quickly that they won't spare a moment to find some kind of alternative to anesthesia for me but they care very much about saving clothes so that they won't have to wash them.

I grimace as the gown settles over my bare flesh. The time spent here is by far the most time spent undressed and inspected, like some animal. I've felt less human and more animal these days.

I'm shoved farther until my back is to the chair and I'm pushed down onto it. The straps are placed around my waist, thighs and neck. I don't even fight it anymore. Honestly, operations are my favorite days because they're the ones that hurt the least. I mean, I hate Mangold. He's a total piece of shit. But he does take surprising care operating on me.

I flex my arms and they take my hands, pinning them against the armrests palm down and wrap a strap around my hand.

"Alright. Everyone, masks on. Guards, please exit that way," Mangold says as he gestures to the door with a scalpel. He looks at his colleagues and moves stand at the chair I'm in. He bends down slightly, pressing a button underneath the seat and it moves up until I'm at a comfortable level for them to operate on. He presses some other buttons, standing up straight now and looks at me. "How ya feeling?"

I look at him, feeling a brief flash of hatred before looking back up at the ceiling. Better to put my energy into bracing for the pain instead of cursing him out.

Looking away from him, I hear him chuckle with amusement. "I must admit, your cellular regeneration is fantastic!" he gushes, moving the sleeve of my gown up to inspect my arm, which hasn't lost any of the muscle I've had for some reason. I never focused on it but I have noticed it. Where other captives I've seen have gotten skinny, I've stayed somewhat the same shape besides losing a lot of my fat. "Alright, people. Let's get to business."

They begin with cutting open and clamping back the skin of my arm and they pull back the muscles within the arm, baring the bones. I grit my teeth the entire time and my body tenses up, my hands being told to clench but, in my peripheral vision, I only see the pulled back bunches of muscle twitch in their spot and my fingers twitch.

I struggle to stay quiet the entire time but a few mewls and grunts escape my mouth every once in a while.

I feel them moving around the ligaments and bones in my arm. Every time they move a nerve, I grit my teeth, whining in pain.

"Okay, Sam. This part is crucial," Mangold says as they stand over me. He's beside another doctor, guiding her hands as they do something. I don't know what. I'm sure that I'll feel it when it happens. "Light incision here," I feel a blade cut into a ligament in my elbow and I bite down on my lip hard as agony washes over my form. I taste blood when I feel them pry the joint of my radius and ulna and separate it from my humerus. "You see this cluster of nerves here?" I see the doctor nod, his eyes focused on my body. He's wearing glasses. Looking into the reflection of the glasses, I could see my arm. My ulna and radius are separated by the joint and apart at least three inches. I also see a stream of white threads connecting to a small pack of muscles at the base of my claws. Mangold's finger is circling the cluster of nerves at the base of the middle claw. "This is the target area. This is the part that is not in our bodies. This is what makes her body and our body different physically," he explains. "This nerve is programmed to tell these muscles," he gestures to the muscles at the base of the claws. "To squeeze these babies out." He then snickers.

"Oh, Schumer, check this out," the doctor that I hate even more than Mangold, goes by the name Taylor, says. He's on the other side of me, working on my other warm which is opened up. He presses on a base muscle gently and I hiss, glaring at Taylor but he's staring at my arm, enthralled with what he's doing. He's done this more than once before.

He presses the base muscle more and more until the claw is pushed out. Once the claw is pushed out, he picks it up and I feel the small string that's attached to the bottom of the claw. I wince, the sensation not exactly painful since he's not yanking on it but bizarre. "This ligament is what retracts the claws."

"Alright! Back to business," Mangold asserts with a pointed look at Taylor. He continues to guide Schumer through this, never actually picking up a scalpel. Taylor mutters while he places the claw back inside and then claps his hands.

I close my eyes, letting out a cry when a small snip sends pain and alarm throughout my body.

"Okay! We need to make this part quick!" There's shuffling as the claw with the muscle is removed. They open up the area of my foot wider and I grimace, gritting my teeth, my face full of sweat and tears. "Here, connect it here. Now take this. Take out fifteen milligrams." There's a momentary pause. "And inject it here," I expect to feel something but I don't. I dare to feel hope that their operation is unsuccessful. "Now the body should do the rest for you…"

I can't see what they're doing but I feel them settle the bone underneath the arch of my bones, above a tendon that I didn't know I had, and squeezing close to the heel bone. I feel them nestling it in between the second and third toes. I squirm at the sensation. They're nestling it in such a way that it presses into the ligaments and tendons of my toes. I hiss when something touches a particularly sensitive area in my heel. I grit my teeth and try to clench my fists but my hands don't fucking _respond_!

"It's not working, Mangold," one voice says.

"Shit," I hear Mangold curse. He shakes his head. "It's not working."

I take a deep, shaky breath. It's not working. Shit. I'm probably gonna have to be put in this chair again, some other day and then they'll try again. I'll have to be opened up again and feel all this pain. All the incisions, all the clamps, all the ripping me apart and putting me back together.

"The middle claw is reforming now, Mangold," another doctor says.

I hear a frustrated groan and I see Mangold remove his glove and run a hand over his face. "Close her up I guess. The claw is already dead. It's too late. I'll talk to Cornelius about it."

I wince when they remove the clamps and move my tissue together to close up. I suck in my breath as they place the muscles and tendons back into place. They close the outer skin of my arms and they call the guards up.

I'm cuffed and returned to my cell. I lie back in my cot, shivering away the ghost sensation of scalpels cutting deep into my body and clamps pulling me apart. I am thankful, however, that Dr. Mangold's shitty skills at being a surgeon has earned him yet another fail. Another huge difference between Mangold and Fuentes is that Mangold sucks at his job. Dr. Fuentes got shit done.

The following week, I'm back on the operating table with my arms and feet opened up like before. Apparently Mangold might've fucked something up and that's why the procedure was unsuccessful.

I lie there, feeling a familiar part of me be forced into another part of me.

I frown when I flex my toes experimentally but, along with that, I feel the slow introduction of something new to my foot. I frown. It's like I have another toe or something…

"The nerve is healed," one of the doctors says.

"Good. Close it back up," Mangold tells them.

I feel them place the muscles back around the toes and they squeeze some to accommodate the new claw. They place the tendon I had back in it's place, letting my body heal to get it back together. They then close my foot back up and hold the split parts together to heal and I hear a whistle.

"Alright, Weapon X," Mangold breathes. "Give that new muscle a squeeze."

I don't do anything just to spite them. I feel a pat on my shin. "Hey! Try to use it."

I bite the inside of my cheek, flexing my foot around. It feels so much more uncomfortable. The claw is massive compared to my foot. I could practically feel it poking at the skin from underneath.

I take a deep breath, trying to somehow get that muscle down there to do _something_ and then a familiar pain rips through a new area. I let out a small yelp as I feel the skin between my second and third toe be pierced by the claw from the inside and I struggle to keep myself calm. Shock keeps my mouth from closing. They did it.

Applause rings throughout the room and I hear congratulations spread throughout the room. Mangold returns back to my field of vision from a friendly pat on the back and then he looks at me with a proud smile. He puts his hand on my shoulder and pats it, giving me a reassuring shake. "Good job laying there and stuff. Hopefully it was as painless as possible, Weapon X."

I glare at him venomously, his subtle sarcasm annoying the shit out of me. You can't even tell with his voice. I focus, retracting the claw. Jesus. That's going to take some getting used to. Especially with how uncomfortable my foot feels.

"Mangold. It's growing back already!"

I know what they're talking about because I could already feel the middle claw growing back. I see Mangold appear once more in my field of vision, looking down at my arm. He frown, clicking his tongue and hissing in defeat. "Alright, this is where it gets tricky."

He grabs something off to the side and brings it up to Schumer, who he's instructing. "You need to get ten milliliters of this," he says, holding up a little brown bottle, and taking a syringe, putting it inside the bottle and pulling out a bit of the liquid inside. It's a dull yellow and I frown. It looks weird and it smells even weirder.

"Inject it in the nerve that just regrew. It should stop growing," Mangold says, as the doctor takes the syringe and goes to inject the regrowing nerve with it. "I'll get the other claw settled in."

They start to remove the claw in my left hand when the Mangold calls out "It's not working."

I smirk, slightly relieved that they aren't successful at besting my healing factor even though I hate the misfortune that it's brought. I watch Mangold walk around the table I'm in and watch the happenings in my arm with a frown. He rubs his masked chin in thought before shaking his head. "Looks like we'll have to try something else. Today, let's just get the claws in. We'll try to eliminate the claw another day." I frown at his smell. Usually, when people are frustrated, they have a musky smell mixed with their sweat but Mangold has a more light, fresh smell with his sweat. No musk on him. I catch a whiff of it as he passes back around the table.

Within the hour, I'm able to extend and retract a claw from both my feet. Halfway to being done, the guards showed up inside the room and there are clamps on my wrists as soon as they undo my wrist restraints.

Mangold pats my shoulder again and I stare at him with a frown. What the hell is up with this guy?

"I'll taper down those foot claws for you. They're a bit big for your feet," he tells me with a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him. Something's up with him. I'm gonna keep an eye on him in my stay here.

I'm released from the straps when something is placed on my feet and I look down in confusion. Around my ankles are two strange contraptions, one on each ankle, that go down my foot like a sandal. It's made of metal and it covers the front of my foot and I grimace. It's to keep me from lashing out with my feet. Wow. They've thought this through to this? I don't even know how to fucking use them!

"You were able to move a claw to her foot?" one of the guards asks.

Mangold nods, pulling off his gloves. "Yes, we were. But the claws in her arms keep regrowing, putting us back to square one. Cornelius is gonna have to come up with another solution."

The guards accept that answer with a nod as two yank me to my feet. I stand, listening to the metal of the sandals that I'm wearing _clack_ against the floor as I'm led back to me cell in the cell block. I'm released and left to my thoughts as I sit on the ground once more.

My legs are stretched ahead of me and I stare at them in hatred. I thought that the ones in my arms were bad enough. Now there's these? For the sake of becoming a better weapon? I growl. They keep changing and twisting my body in the most painful ways possible because of some minor issues that work against their plans.

I extend the claws and stare at them. No. Staring is too kind of a word. I glare at them as they pierce through the skin of my feet, ignoring the pain. I'll admit, it does hurt but it's too similar to the pain in my hands to bother me.

I won't let them have this.

I grab the claw like I did yesterday and pull, feeling my foot protest and shocks of pain shoot up my body as blood gushes from the base of the claw. The waves of pain make their way up to my brain, who is telling me to stop this shit because it fucking hurts. But I can't let them have this. They manipulated my body to work in their benefit. I refuse to let them have this!

I let out a yell as I yank it out, the tendon to retract it hanging from the end of the claw like rubber, blood dripping from the end of the claw.

I breathe deeply, in pain but slightly satisfied. It isn't a natural part of me. It shouldn't grow back.

I frown when the pain starts to fade. I shake my head. No. It's just healing. Not regrowing.

I frown when I feel the familiar sensation of sand building up inside my body and then rock rubbing against my toe bones and I whine, putting a hand to my face and hoping to god that what's happening isn't what I think it is.

The sensation goes away and I focus on my foot, flexing the muscle and then a claw pierces through my skin, right between the toes. I feel tears wet the palm of my hand and I grit my teeth, baring them in frustration as I release the tears, moving from my position sitting on the ground to my knees and my elbows, breathing heavily and then sobbing.

"Goddammit!" I shout, pounding my fist on the ground in anger. They even have my own body working against me.

I pound harder on the ground and keep shouting in frustration and anger, standing and moving to punch the wall, my knuckles bloody and broken. The large splotch of red on the wall glistens, fresh with blood. It's the newest one among the others on the wall and the few on the ground when I have bad days.

I let up after my fists are bloody pulps and I grit my teeth, breathing heavily and sweat coating my body like a second skin. I growl in frustration, moving to the end of the room where my bunk is and I fall on the limp mattress, wondering who it belonged to before me while I watch my fingers rebuild themselves in front of my face while I rest then on the pillow limply, the blood soaking into the fabric.

It takes them two days before they try again but my healing factor prevails. I leave the operation table with a smug face but a still relieved Mangold. That last part still confuses me but doesn't deter me from returning to my cell with a stupid grin. Tasting this one small, bitter victory, I spend the rest of my time lying on the mattress, slightly thankful of the healing factor while listening to many songs from my "Victory" playlist.

It's the next day that my healing factor doesn't save my middle claws. Mangold wasn't being subtle about how the "genius" Doctor Cornelius figured out how to turn off my healing factor to stop regrowing the claw. Though, technically, they didn't turn it off. They just tricked my body into thinking that the middle claw was there with a complicated, _long_ operation where they kept rerouting my nerves. It took hours until the claws would stop growing and I felt every moment of it. Surprisingly, the moment that felt the worst was when my body stopped regenerating the middle claw. They end the operation with some kind of dosage of gray liquid into my arm. The same one that the nurse gives me.

I'm returned to my room and a new dark red splotch joined the flaking, brown ones dotting the wall from past tantrums.

I don't look at any pictures when I'm given my phone with my dinner. I just eat my food while listening to my calming piano music. I don't resist when the doctors come in to take my phone. I just watch them with a defeated glare.

The next day, I'm surprised to be treated to a simple endurance test after breakfast. I sprinted for ten hours straight on a special treadmill tracking my heart rate, blood pressure and calories being burned. Despite nearly collapsing by the end of it, it is a merciful fate compared to what I've been through.

I'm surprised to be treated to a lot of those tests dealing with my endurance and strength.

I wake up today to the smell of bologna and rice and my phone next to the plate.

I take both and scoop at my rice while listening to acoustic music. They take my phone forty minutes after I finish breakfast and I'm taken to the bottom floor and my face is filled with water with the recited words of " _You are Weapon X. You exist to serve Hydra._ " being screamed and shouted into my ears.

I have lunch and dinner with my phone, and Nurse Poison comes in to give me my dose. I wake up once and am surprised when I'm not dragged out after breakfast. I eat lunch with my phone, listening to music and looking at pictures of my family at Disneyland and SeaWorld.

I frown at the sight of the door of my cell opening and guards stepping in. The numbers and aggression of the guards has decreased the past few weeks, since I've been on a tighter leash because of my phone.

I allow them to take me down and I frown when I'm taken to the same level where the operation rooms and the endurance tests take place.

I expect to be taken to 1109, the room where the special treadmill is but am surprised when we skip it and go into 1158. Inside is a strange weights machine, and a set of weights, ranging from the regular ten and fifteen pounds to an extreme one hundred pounds.

I could tell that this is just testing, but it is much more painful than the running tests they had me do earlier, considering that my wrist broke after three hundred pounds.

They sent me back to my room after my arm healed and I got extra time with my phone today. They actually left it for a full _hour_.

The next day, I eat breakfast while listening to "We are the Champions" when they take my phone away after I'm done with breakfast. I'm taken down three floors and taken to room 15. I meet Mr. Llamaka inside and I prepare to sit before he holds up a hand. He seems somewhat eager for today. He has a glint in his eyes behind his glasses.

He sits forward and laces his fingers together. He smiles up at me, almost as if he's proud. "You have been doing very well, Subject 23," he tells me.

I look at him as he sits there with a shit-eating grin. I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. "Don't look so upset. This is cause for celebration," he says. He stands but leaves his hands on the table. Leaning forward, he looks at me. "I believe that it is time to progress to the next step."

I look at him suspiciously and he stands straight. He moves around the table and gestures for me to follow. I watch him with suspicion in my eyes. I follow him hesitantly and guards vacate the room just as we do, keeping close, their arms at the ready. I watch them follow behind closely as Mr. Llamaka leads us down the stairs.

We reach the bottom and the phantom sensation of water filling my nose makes me struggle to stand straight.

He passes the door to the waterboarding room and relief washes over me in waves.

We pass the room and we begin to approach one that seems to lead to a larger room, one that is at the end of the hall. I've always seen it but I've never been through it.

We approach the door and through the small window, I can see that on the other side are training mats and people. My heart skips a beat.

Mr. Llamaka reaches the door and he twists the handle, opening it with a key card and swinging it open, holding it open for the guards and I to walk through.

I look around, up at the massive ceiling that stands nearly fifty feet above us. I see the grated pathways above and guards walking through them, doing who knows what, torturing who know's who.

I look back down, so unaccustomed to such large a large space. I forgot how it was like to be outside of the same five rooms every day. It's as if the small rooms add to my tension and misery back in the rooms from before. My eyes find Mr. Llamaka and the mat with a ring on it. I frown, my elated, free form feeling the pressure of being held captive once again.

"Today, we are doing something different," Mr. Llamaka says.

I look at him, then the mat, then the military man standing in the center of the circle. They're gonna try to get me to fight. I chuckle. When they start asking me to stop fighting, the ask me to fight. How ironic.

I shake my head, looking from the group of sparring partners to Mr. Llamaka. "Not happening."

He frowns before shaking his head. "I suppose it would be too much if we expected you to open up to the idea quickly-"

"No," I interrupt. "I'm not doing it. No matter what."

Mr. Llamaka sighs before reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out the familiar square shape of my phone. "Not even for this?"

My heart skips a beat. He wouldn't dare…

"The terms were your cooperation for your phone, Subject 23," he tells me. "You can deny this opportunity to prepare yourself to be a useful asset to us, but you will also lose the opportunity to have your phone."

I feel a painful lump in my throat clench and I swallow. Shit. I glare at him, biting my lip. You've gotta be shitting me.

"So?" he asks expectantly.

I stare at him, thinking about all the things that giving in to. I'm giving them what they want. I'm letting them win. All to listen to a few songs and see some pictures.

Pictures of my family...my friends...my past.

Those words ultimately make me step forward reluctantly and Mr. Llamaka's shit-eating grin is back.

"Perfect. Now," Mr. Llamaka begins, stepping forward cautiously. "I will have your phone," he says, dropping it in his pocket. "And if you attempt to escape any time during your training, your memories will all be gone."

The thought sends chills of horror down my spine. I nod hesitantly and Mr. Llamaka smiles. "Good. Now, remove her cuffs," he says, looking at the guards.

I feel everyone, save for Mr. Llamaka, tense up as the guards walk forward and take out the keys to unlock my cuffs. Even I tense up. I could just escape right now. I could try some kind of last-ditch attempt to attack Llamaka and run for it.

But where would I go? Up the stairs to my cell? Reach the top of the grate catwalks above us? Please, both scenarios would be interrupted by waves of armed guards and soldiers.

The lock of my cuffs click and they slip off, one guard taking them into their reluctant hands and the guard with the keys seems to expect something. I almost expect something to happen but my hands stay in front of me, not moving an inch. I look down at them, relaxing them from their clenched state and flexing them. They're free. This is the first time that I've been left outside of my cell of operation room without the restraints, my hands free to do whatever I want. But even when they're unchained, they still have invisible ties created by my phone in Mr. Llamaka's pocket, keeping me from lashing out. I could almost feel the strands, clinging to my wrists like thin spider silk, so thin yet it's strong enough to hold me back.

A breath of relief fills the whole room when I don't start to attempt an escape and my foot sandals that keep my foot claws from becoming a weapon are removed and I stretch out my toes. They're pretty cramped in the sandals.

"Good, Subject 23," Mr. Llamaka says. "Move over here onto the mat." His voice acts like an annoying ass leash, tugging at me to do what it says like some fucking dog. "Colonel Greivans will be your main coach until you've mastered how to fight." I look at the man that Mr. Llamaka began to gesture to.

He's a large man with a ridiculously muscled body and a buzz cut. He's wearing the same attire that the other soldiers wear and he looks down at me. He doesn't seem so scared of me. He bizarrely reminds me of Luke Evans. Eh, I'm in the MCU, maybe this is just the actor's character or something.

"I will speculate from over there, keeping track of your behavior and cooperation," Mr. Llamaka says, bringing my attention to him. He's already moving to the edge of the mat. I can only assume that that's where he'll be for the entirety of my training. "Begin your lesson, Colonel Grievans," Mr. Llamaka says.

Grievans looks at me and his eyes narrow. "I hear that you have claws."

His words are blunt and somewhat demanding. Demanding what? I don't know.

I nod reluctantly.

He gestures to my arms with his chin. "Show 'em."

I take a deep breath, gritting my teeth. Looking at Mr. Llamaka, he looks at me expectantly. I glower at the floor before raising my hands, straightening my palms to my wrists and clenching my hands, pushing out my claws. I barely flinch now when they exit. I look down at my foot, wondering if I should push that one out two.

"Feet too," Grievans voice orders.

I look at him before concentrating. They're much more difficult since I'm not used to them.

They come out slowly, a result of a lack of practice. Grievans merely stares at them and then turns, gesturing for me to retract them.

I retract them all, the wounds closing up quick. I look up at him and he has his hand rubbing his chin.

"Are you well-versed in any martial art?"

I grimace, nodding. "I know boxing and krav maga."

The man nods. "Anything else?"

I shake my head. "I've never trained in anything else."

He nods. "Move into your fighting stance," he orders.

I reluctantly do so. He circles my form before shaking his head. He's curt and to the point, telling me to straighten up just a bit and stand less rigid. He grabs my waist and is not gentle when he has me face forward more and move slightly higher until my knees are not longer bent so harshly, something crucial in boxing. One thing that also makes me slightly nervous is that the stance that he has me stand in is more open. I could practically feel all the punches prepared to hit my gut and chest.

"This should always be your neutral stance," he tells me. "This stance allows you stability and the ability to rapidly switch from low to high stances. It does, however, leave you very open," he says, gesturing to the space between my upheld fists and hovering over my entire torso. I nod. No kidding. "It also gives you ample time to assess a situation and improves your response time."

He takes a deep breath, grabbing wraps. "Especially with training."

He wraps his hands with handwraps and then grabs two wooden sticks from on top of a big that I assume is his. He approaches me, holding the sticks firmly by the ends.

"Don't get hit," he instructs.

I frown, confused before a wooden stick comes flying my way, ready to hit my face. I'm quick to step back while raising my arm. The stick makes painful contact with my forearm and I wince, crying out in pain and pulling my arm away. I prepare for him to give me more instruction, something more specific but his other hand swings the stick at me again, this time coming close to colliding with my chin.

I raise my hand, palm out and the blow is even more painful than the last one.

I cry out, pulling back. "Wait! Hold on!"

He doesn't. He merely rushes, swinging the wooden sticks in quick succession, not allowing me any time to think. I get in the rhythm of using my forearms and learn how to sometimes parry the hits Grievans sends, sometimes making him stumble back. I block hit after hit, but each blow feels like being hit with a metal pipe. I grunt every time that he hits me. I gasp, a sudden, stinging and aching pain erupting in my abdomen. Jesus Christ, how the hell is he so fucking strong?! I grunt, nearly dropping my arms but his assault doesn't relent. In fact, I think it's getting faster.

I struggle to keep up, my arms moving as best as I could. I don't even parry the hits anymore.

"Faster!" he demands, his voice sharp and cutting. "Faster! Parry the hits!"

His hard voice makes me grit my teeth and I try desperately to keep up.

"Duck!" he snaps.

I frown before his arm comes swinging at me, the stick held so that the flat top of it would hit my temple. I gasp, ducking just barely and then getting hit in the shoulder hard with his other stick.

I begin to tire, feeling panicked and alert, trying to keep up with Grievans' pace as best as I could. He strikes at my shoulders, my chest, my head. He hits my stomach and even hit my cheek, scraping it and drawing blood but healing as soon as they came into being.

I cry out when I feel my wrist crack when I block one hit but Grievans doesn't relent.

"Faster." is his only response.

"Duck."

"Parry."

"More."

"Faster!"

I follow his directions as best as I could, heaving as I continue to block each of his hits. He swings extra hard and I duck down, bouncing back up and on my toes, ready for the next hit. I breathe heavily as I await his next hit, watching his form carefully. My brows furrow in confusion when he gathers the sticks in one hand and moves away.

"Excellent," he mutters, dropping the sticks on the bag they were on before. "It seems like you'll be a fast learner."

I'm too afraid to drop my stance, arms up and ready for some kind of sneak attack or some bullshit like that. Grievans walks back to me and he crosses his arms in front of me. I breathe heavily, attempting to control it. Grievans only scans my figure before continuing my training. He makes a rough outline of how he will be training me. He told me that, along with my other discovered abilities, I seem to have enhanced reflexes and durability, because the hits he just delivered to be with the sticks would normally leave any person without armor with a broken wrist.

I have to wonder if he's somehow enhanced as well.

He has me spar with him, assessing what I know and what I don't know by basically making me go into it blind. He's quick to correct me in my stance and footwork, knocking me down whenever he notices me shift my weight improperly and he makes sure to punch me whenever he thinks my arms get too low. I struggle to hold my rage and anger in, throwing it into my own punches and attacks.

Grievans is merciless. He hits my chin and I feel my teeth clash together and the taste of blood fills my mouth. I growl, trying to hold in my rage before I feel another fist land on my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

I struggle to find air before Grievans grabs my head, bringing it down on his knee and making my head ring.

I stumble, struggling to jump back while trying to reign in my emotions.

Pain explodes over my jaw and I feel a pop as my jaw dislocates. I fall to the ground, holding my hands out to keep my face from colliding and I whimper, processing that my jaw is currently dislocated right now and I can't close it.

What I'm also processing is that my tendons and ligaments are pulling it back into place. I could feel them tightening and begin to pull the jaw back in its hinge or socket or whatever. And dammit! It hurts! I wince when it pops back into place, the pain adding to my anger. I clench my fists, resting my weight on my forearms. I shake with the intensity of my emotions.

"Get back up!" Grievans demands, kicking my leg. "You'd be dead in a real fight!"

The words and his added kick make me snap. Oh, _I_ would be dead! I'm the one with the _motherfucking claws_!

My claws shoot out of my fists and I shout, jumping to my feet and running at Grievans.

I see his eyes widen just a fraction and I dash forward with a shout while he braces himself.

"Subject 23!"

Mr. Llamaka's voice cuts through the anger, snuffing out the burning violent fury, reminding me what's at stake. I halt in my steps as soon as I hear his voice, my fists that were once shaking in anger are now shaking in fear. Oh no.

I turn around to face Mr. Llamaka nervously, the fear of losing my phone privileges eating me from the inside out. He stands there, my phone nestled in his hand gently, but I could completely imagine him raising his arm and chucking it to the ground as hard as he could, shattering it. The thought sends my stomach into anxious tumbles.

"It would be preferable if you used your claws in a more appropriate setting," Mr. Llamaka says. He doesn't seem angry. Just annoyed. As if he expected this.

I frown, trembling in frustration before retracting my claws. I take a deep breath, looking at Grievans and then Llamaka before settling on Grievans. He doesn't even look scared. I think back to his strength and speed, suddenly realizing that maybe Mr. Llamaka saved my life. This guy could probably kill me. I feel ice run down my spine at the thought.

I could've been killed.

I let out a defeated breath, returning to my stance and we start again.

Grievans continues as if nothing happens. What's strange though is that he's also teaching me how to grapple and wrestle _himself_. Both standing and demonstrating physically. Takedowns and grappling seem somewhat easy. Easy enough to spend the time practicing until Mr. Llamaka calls time.

I'm led to my room and Mr. Llamaka makes a very dramatic show of giving me my phone, like if he's conquered some impossible task or journey. I glare at him and take it, feeling shame deep within my bones.

I listen to appropriately sad music while I wallow in guilt and disgust over my actions. I absent-mindedly wonder if this music will be part of the soundtrack of whatever movie I'm in, just to cheer me up and distract from the fact that I willingly gave them what they wanted. I fought for them, aided them in their search to conquer my mind and soul for their disposal.

I wallow in my hopelessness. Am I really this desperate to be connected to something of my past and family to give in to evil's intentions? I will admit, it is a dramatic thing to ask, but a pretty damn accurate question. Am I really this desperate for pictures of my girlfriend, family and friends?

Looking down at my phone, I return my attention to the open picture of my sisters, mom, and me at Disneyland. I grit my teeth, knowing the answer is a complete and unashamed " _Yes_ ".

I live through three more days before I'm out there again and I learn more combat.

It's at this time that I realize that this is probably going to be my schedule for the rest of my time here until I find a way out. One day of waterlogging, one day with Mr. Llamaka, one full of experiments, and the last combat training. I guess I'll keep playing nice. Might as well learn how to kick ass so that escaping will be easier.

I scoff at that last thought. _I guess I'll keep playing nice._ What the fuck is wrong with me?

The talks with Mr. Llamaka turn more one-sided and the only thing that makes me look up at him is when he threatens to take away my phone privileges.  
I'm currently fighting X-17, a woman who is vicious and powerful. Her knuckles pound into my eye and she attempts to take me down by sweeping my legs from under me. I counter her attempt with a grab at her waist and I flip us over, landing with my knee in her side and the wind being knocked out of her. I raise my hand and keep that position, knowing that if this were a real fight for my life, I'd have to impale her head with my claws. But even though that's what everyone thinks and expects-hell, it might even be something that I _should_ do-I'll probably back out.

"Subject 23, winner," Grievans announces.

I stand, allowing the woman to get on her feet and I go back to the line. I've been sparring with the other Weapon X's recently. I've had to win each spar. Otherwise, I don't get my phone.

"X-23," Grievans calls out. "X-19"

I frown, walking back onto the mat. I just fought. Can't I have a fucking break? I can never say that for fear of being deemed "insubordinate" and not getting my phone, but it's nice to think bitterly like that.

The other candidate approaching is a young man with dark hair and a growing beard. He looks fairly fresh, even though he was brought here before me. I see his eyes still holding a light but I can see on his face that his resolve is breaking. I wonder if he's the one being waterboarded along with me.

I notice Grievans reach down to his feet and pull up a bag that he stood by the entire beginning of the spars. Inside it is a pair of knives that he gives us to practice the silat knife fighting style. He gives them to us every once in a while to perfect every form and technique he deems incorrect.

I always hated using the knives. If we cut ourselves, we would bleed. But, fortunately for us, we all heal quickly after immediate medical attention. I would've actually been killed in a fight because X-14 managed to slice my throat. Though I do get cut and sliced at, I heal quickly, pretty much instantly. It's when I actually hit _them_ that I feel sick. They bleed. And they don't stop. The one Weapon X candidate with the fastest healing besides me is X-15, and he took ten minutes to completely heal a small open wound on his hand where I managed to slash at him.

Grievans opens the bag, reaching in and pulling out a serrated knife.

He moves it to hold it by the blade and he steps forward, holding out the knife to X-19. 19 takes it without hesitation and I look at Grievans expectantly. I struggle to not call after him when he suddenly spins around and goes to stand back in his usual spot, not giving me my knife like he usually does.

I look at Grievans in confusion and I see X-19 looking at him as well. I glance at him and I notice that he looks almost hesitant, looking between me and Grievans, almost like he's expecting Grievans to give me a knife just as much as I am.

"X-23," he calls out when he turns to look at us, crossing his arms. He looks at me pointedly. "I want you to use your claws today."

I feel my heart skip a beat at his words and I could almost feel the muscles surrounding my claws twitch involuntarily. I haven't pushed my claws out since the operation. I've only seen them maybe three times since then. The thought of seeing them after a successful experiment they attempted where they took one away also doesn't help. I never liked them but now that I know how they've tampered with them, I almost miss the old ones-the three that would sit in my forearms. I feel like some cheap machine where they replaced an old chip or part with a "newer" and "better" part because the old one was inconvenient.

I shake my head, feeling more than seeing the interest or mild curiosity from the more lucid Weapon X candidates. There are few, but they're there. X-19 included. I've never used my claws in combat before, so they've never had reason to see them.

I sigh, lowering into my stance and holding my arms straight, pointed to the ground. I tense up before taking a deep breath and letting it out, pushing my claws out in tandem with my breath. It's a thing that I discovered that helps with the shredding pain.

If X-19 is blown away by my actions, he doesn't show it. He merely adjusts his stance and holds the knife in the way that Grievans taught us. I glance at Grievans and think about Mr. Llamaka. I could practically feel his smug face. I can't believe I'm doing this for them.

I raise my hands, ignoring the sick pit in my stomach at the sight of the meager pair of claws in each hand rather than the trio I used to have. They look so much smaller without the third one. Like you could break them.

A whistle is blown and all thoughts are thrown aside besides the fight.

I zero in on X-19 and I run at him, watching is every move.

He dashes forward as well, holding the knife by the handle and I see him prepare to execute one of the more basic moves we've learned when we began training.

Once we're close enough, I make it obvious that I'm going to slash, just to give him enough time to duck because I don't really want to hurt the guy. He's a victim, just as much as I am. I could tell that he doesn't want to hurt me.

He ducks, rolling under my arm and I could already tell what he's gonna try next.

Halting in my run, I spin around, my heel nearly hitting his chin, but he drops back from a crouch he was in, the knife in his hand changing from pointing outward to have the blade lined with his arm. A position we are trained to use for close combat.

I'm reluctant to use the usual jabs and punches we use when fighting without weapons because of my claws. If I punch his shoulder, I will stab him. I like to punch the head a lot. I can't imagine how sick I'll be if I punch him in the head with my claws.

He slashes at me and I instinctively use my claws to block the hit. The serrated blade scrapes against the bone and I use my other hand after retracting my claws to punch his gut before spinning around again and managing to kick him in the face.

X-19 manages to switch the blade into his other hand and he lunges forward, his blade managing to embed itself into my shoulder and I cry out. I shove him off and I clutch my shoulder tightly, eyes narrowed at X-19. His knife is still in his hand and his face is pale and his eyes wide. His mouth hangs open slightly, unable to close as he stares at me in fear.

I take a deep breath, knowing that we'll be punished if we don't fight for longer than three seconds.

I rush at him as my shoulder heals and I swing at him, getting his upper arm just as he managed to dodge.

He spins to face me, arm swinging with the blade pointed toward me. He manages to slash my forearm just after I raise them to block his hit from hitting my chest. I prepare to have my turn to swipe at him when he flips the knife to point backwards and he pulls his arm to swing back towards me with a quick, practiced movement. I already lowered my arm and by the time I realize that I need to keep my arm up, my arm is lowered. I jump back, feeling myself stumble before feeling my foot fuck up and fall under me. I begin to fall backward but I remember a move that Grievans taught us in case we fall. I curl just a bit and focus the weight on my shoulder. I aim to fall on it and do before moving the weight to the other shoulder and roll with it. I pull it off successfully, albeit not smoothly. As soon as I'm crouched on my knees, a foot makes hard contact with my chin and I grimace, tasting blood. Before I can process it, another kick nails me square in the face and it's strong enough to push me over onto me back.

I feel someone straddle me and I feel a knife pierce my shoulder once more before they keep my pinned by the blade, striking my face with their knuckles, fists and elbow.

I grit my teeth, grunting after each hit, my anger beginning to boil over.

I thought that we had some sort of agreement? We wouldn't really hurt each other, only keep up the act. Why the hell is he actually fucking _hurting_ me?!

I cry out, feeling a new burst of strength with adrenaline as I raise my legs, locking my ankles around their neck, underneath X-19's chin and yanking him back.

I roll over and move to a more prepared crouch and I see X-19 jump to his feet. I glare at him, seeing red. I jump at him, raising my fists and bringing them down on his shoulders as I wrap my legs around his waist. I twist us over, knocking us both down but having him deal with most of the impact by making him land underneath me.

He kicks me off, both his feet nailing me right in the gut and making me fly back two feet. He climbs onto his feet, his knife in his bloody grip and his shirt stained red. The metallic smell makes my nostrils flare and something within me makes me want to fight more. I bare my teeth, almost relishing in the animalistic act of fighting. I didn't even notice that the claws from my left hand shot back out until I run him through.

He managed to dig his blade into my chest while I ran him through and the pain makes me hiss.

I kick him off, making him fly about three feet. He lands on his side and he holds his abdomen in pain, looking back up at me in fear as he moves to crawl onto his knees. X-19's abilities are slow but they are unique in that injuries like the ones I gave him don't slow him down.

The pain in my chest distracts me and I grimace, looking down and still seeing the handle of the knife protruding from my breast. I grab it and yank it out quickly, gritting my teeth to hold in a whimper. The skin and muscle beneath it heals quickly as I focus on X-19 once more. He's shaky in his stance and he's without weapon now. He holds his hands up in fists, trembling before fortifying his stance and setting his mouth in a grim line. He runs at me and he manages to evade my claws, frustrating me beyond compare. I growl when he swipes a particularly well-aimed swipe before I manage to catch his shoulder, making him cry out and more blood splatters on the matt. He ignores the hit and he tries to tackle me, putting his arms around my shoulders and trying to twist my arms behind me.

I don't retract my claws when I plow my fists into his gut as he stays in front of me for too long, making him scream in agony. I slowly pull my arms back after I feel warm liquid cover my hands and I suddenly realize what I'm doing, the adrenaline gone and rationality taking its place in my mind once more. I recognize the red liquid pooling beneath X-19 and leaking from his wounds as he pales, staring at me in shock as he falls back.

It's silent as I swallow weakly, my blood running cold and I gasp, my breath stuck in my throat. No...no no no no…

"Subject 23, winner."

I'm returned to my room with bloody hands and my phone in my grasp. I don't do anything with it. The sick feeling in my stomach tells me that I don't deserve to have these memories. I've done a terrible thing and I don't deserve to be able to see my family. I'm too fucked up to be able to be a part of them anymore. Even thinking about going back, what the hell would I tell them? What would they think of me as I am now? I've killed one person and have almost killed more than I can count. Would they really accept a murderer into their lives?

I think back to Kayla. My peace-loving, pacifist girlfriend. What would she say now?

I ignore the food that they give me and don't fight them when they take my phone away. I don't wash my hands until three days pass when the door to my room is slammed open and I'm taken to be experimented on.

I don't fight when the guards cuff me and pull me out of the room. I would complain about the rough handling and such but, really, I don't hold anything against the guards anymore. One particular group of guards even talks to me every once in a while and they have kids and families that aren't supposed to know what they do and who they work for. But they'll do it because of the threat that this Hydra is to their family.

We go through the usual routes to the experimental rooms and pass them. I frown when I pass those and then realize that we're probably going to the operation rooms. I steel myself, prepared to have my skin pulled apart my chest opened up.

We make a right into my usual operating room and I see the table.

I find Mangold immediately and I'm confused to see him when he's standing there alone with a single clipboard. That's strange. He's usually surrounded by a bunch of other surgeons or doctors that do the dirty work for him while he directs them. He's a terrible director, though. Almost always getting the placement of something wrong or forgetting one step.

He turns around and smiles when he sees us.

"Good morning, Weapon X," he greets, grinning. "Did you rip out any of your claws last night?"

I glare at him, feeling my mouth twitch to sneer at him.

"We didn't find any claws or fresh blood in her cell," one guard answers.

Mangold nods, satisfied with the answer. "Take the restrains off her," he instructs, looking at the guards.

The guards waste no time removing then and I look at them all in surprise. They're really letting me stand here, arms free and able to slice people up? I look at the door. I could probably take these guys down quickly and try to get out of here. Steal a key card and use it to open the doors. "I wouldn't recommend running right now," Mangold's voice cuts into my thoughts. I look back at the doctor in confusion. Is he talking to me? "The security has doubled within the hour because they're transporting some adamantium into the labs level of the building."

I frown, looking at Mangold. "You're telling me this why?"

He shakes his head. "No real reason besides discouraging escape at the current moment. Alright, Weapon X, stand here," he moves aside and gestures to the spot he was standing at. There is a silver plate on the floor. I look at it and look up, looking for a screen and finding it. It's an industrial scale.

I step forward onto it and numbers go on the screen. The numbers skyrocket to one hundred and end at one hundred and forty-eight. I used to be one hundred seventy-six. Mangold writes that down and looks at me. "Good," he comments, gesturing for me to get off of the scale. I do, my gaze still on the door in contemplation. I could just run out and attempt a suicide mission? I mean, I heal quickly. If I manage to get outside of this place, I'll heal and I'll be free. It would be worth it, right? Even without my phone? "Now stand against this wall here. Right here…" he stresses, his finger directly on a grid with numbers written all along it with lines indicating where they are. It's for height and...width, I guess? What do they need that for?

He takes my height carefully and pulls out his pen. "Lift up your arm," he tells me as he writes down my height. I begrudgingly obey, lifting my arm up perpendicular to me. I guess they're measuring my arms. "Now the other one." I stand like Jesus does on his last day, arms spread wide. I frown at the thought. I wonder if today would be my last day if I try to run.

He writes the numbers down before nodding, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small circle. He unfurls it, the measuring tape snapping at the end like a snake. He brings the tape up to my arm and around it, wrapping around my bicep. He does this with both my arms, my shoulders and palms. He measures a lot of my torso and my thighs, calves and feet as well. He copies all the measurements down and then he nods once he's got all the measurements down.

"Alright. Good job, Weapon X," he says as he straightens up.

The name he uses makes my stomach twist and I grimace, grinding my teeth. "I have a fucking name, _Psycho Doctor._ " I snap pointedly.

He looks at me before sighing and clipping his pen onto the board in his hand. "Yes. I am aware. But here, you're Weapon X. It's the only name that should really matter to you right now."

His response makes my blood boil and my teeth grit even harder inside my mouth. I have the urge to run him through with my claws but refrain from doing that. I don't want to kill him or risk getting shot in the head right now.

"Alright Weapon X," Mangold continues. "Come over here. We need to check your current blood count, blood pressure and oxygen levels in your bones."

I frown when he gestures to a chair. A metal chair with no restraints, no straps. Nothing to hold me down or prevent violent outbursts.

I reluctantly take the offered seat and he grabs the thick fabric material with velcro and wraps it around my elbow. He activates the machine it's connected to and we wait.

I look around, seeing the guards still in the room and still confused that it's only Mangold that is here.

I turn to look back at him as the machine beeps and my blood pressure is displayed on the screen.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking at Mangold. "What's this for?"

He doesn't look at me as he writes the results down. "It's a physical analysis and measurements to determine how much adamantium is needed for their experiment."

I frown. I didn't expect him to actually answer. I shrug it off. This is my chance to gain information. If I am in the MCU, it would ultimately be in the format of a movie script or something. Maybe like some poorly written fanfiction where something about the plot is revealed or summarized because letting the audience figure it out by themselves is difficult to do. Whatever it is, I'm not complaining.

Thinking back to his words, I frown. Adamantium? How did they get ahold of adamantium here? It's something that is strictly Fox's property, isn't it? "What's adamantium? What do you need it for?"

He drops the clipboard onto the counter, making me jump. He removes the blood pressure fabric from my arm. "It's an element they managed to create here. They wanted to find a way to replicate vibranium without going to Wakanda. Try to keep themselves under the radar, because people only ever go to Wakanda for one thing." He puts the blood pressure reader away and moves to grab a test tube with a thinner tube and a needle.

He pulls a thin rubber sheet from a drawer and goes to me. "They didn't succeed in completely replicating all of vibranium's properties, but what they made is close enough. It's similar to vibranium in almost every way except the thing that makes vibranium infamous," he grabs my arm gently while tying the rubber sheet like a rope around my bicep. He takes the needle and plunges it into my elbow and I barely flinch, accustomed to pain. "It doesn't absorb vibrations."

I frown. "So, it's not indestructible?"

Mangold nods as he connects the thinner tube with the needle to the test tube and my blood is drawn into it. "It is, actually. It just doesn't absorb vibrations."

I frown. Shit. They have actual adamantium. I feel a lump in my throat as I brace for the answer to my next question. "And what are you going to use it for?"

He glances at me briefly and he sighs, pulling the needle from my arm and untying the rubber sheet from my arm. "It doesn't matter. You're not ready for it."

I frown. "Not ready for what?"

He shakes his head. "Weapon X is a program that is trying to make an indestructible soldier. A well trained, unkillable soldier. They've been searching around for people like you," he says, gesturing to me while he turns to place my tube of blood into a box with mist coming out of it. It must be in ice box. "People who can heal quickly. They've found quite a few with remarkable healing rates. Some take days to heal the clear break of a bone compared to our regular months in a cast. But then they found you. A literal walking killing machine. And they're rushing you through to make you Weapon X. And they're getting a bit sloppy"

I frown at his words. So that's why they would keep annoying the first doctor about my progress. She was stubborn. Maybe that's why she got fired. "But even with people like you, a bullet to the head is the end all be all. So they've been experimenting with adamantium and bone fusion. Theoretically, it's plausible and highly possible. Bone and adamantium could be physically fused together. It was discovered that live tissue and vibranium could bond and continue living. Adamantium inherited this trait from vibranium when they replicated it." He turns back to me with a small smile. "But all live test subjects have never made it passed a month. Either infection gets the best of them or they never make it out of the bone fusion."

I feel my stomach twist and bile build in my throat at his smile. How could he say that and fucking _smile_? What kind of a sociopath is this guy? "And they're gonna do that to me?"

I look at the door. I think I should just risk it…

"Nope."

His word catches my attention. I frown. "What?"

I look at him as he looks up at me from his clipboard. "As far as I can tell, you're too petite for this kind of procedure right now. Very thin, but I'll give it to you that you are built." I look down at my form. I have lost a lot of muscle and my underwhelming height of five feet, four inches would probably put me in the petite category. I frown. That's genetic, though. I'm the tallest in my family and that's saying something. Though, considering that all the characters in this universe are fucking _giants_ , I guess it would make sense. "But I believe that the doses of adamantium booster in your system isn't enough. We might have to continue on with five-no, _six_ more months on a stronger dosage to get your bones to bond completely."

I frown. "Adamantium booster?"

He shrugs. "It's the closest thing I could call it without using it's super long name. We've given it to you every day so far. It's to promote bonding with adamantium within the body." He pulls out the syringe and I look at it, finally knowing what it is. It's the poison that the nurse gives me every day. "Speaking of, here is some adamantium booster," he puts his hand under my elbow before piercing the needle into my flesh and squeezing on the plunger, emptying out its contents.

I grimace, feeling the solution course through my veins and spread throughout my body. "So I'm not going to be made into Weapon X yet?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet."

He removes the needle from my arm before looking at the guards. "You could take her back now. The physical is over."

I don't resist when the cuffs are clamped over my wrists again. I ponder over my new knowledge, thinking it over. So I still have time before I'm turned into Weapon X and experience some kind of mindwipe. I need to get out of here before then.

I'm taken back to my cell and I sit back on my cot, crossing my legs and resting my chin on my palms. I spend the rest of the night thinking over plans and every possible outcome before I lie back and plan myself to sleep.

I at least have more time before they try to make me Weapon X.

Nurse poison still visits me everyday and the waterboarding sessions continue as usual.

The words " _You are Weapon X. You are made to serve Hydra. Your purpose is to benefit Hydra._ " are now small chants that fly annoyingly every other hour, simply as a result of being repeated so many times. Mr. Llamaka has taken me out to do more spars and, if I lose, I don't get to have my phone. Unfortunately, my will isn't strong enough to stand by my beliefs of not hurting people without necessity. I've hurt more people. I've fought with my claws more often and, as disgusting as it is, the foot claws have come in handy for when I'm being held down, especially since Grievans has been training me in fighting techniques involving kicks and feet. I've hurt and maimed all these people yet I get rewarded with my phone. Even then, I'm being cheated at that. It makes me feel sick.

I sit in my cot now, my food beside me, half-finished and my phone droning a tune that I can't recognize anymore due to my exhaustion and depression.

 _Why do they keep winning?_

The familiar sound of the door being opened brings my attention to the entrance of my room. The guards are here. I know by now that it hasn't been an hour.

They approach and something within me snaps. I feel it, like a taut rubber band. It releases whatever it was holding back and anger and resentment boil over within me.

I growl as I see the guards come closer to take the phone.

"It hasn't been a fucking hour yet!" I snap. They don't stop and I close my eyes, holding my phone tightly in my hand. "It hasn't been…"

My hand is suddenly empty of anything, my hand jerked forward after being stolen of my phone. I open my eyes, seeing one guard pulling away from me while the other has his gun held tightly in its grip. "Wait!" I reach forward and I see the gun be raised up. A loud thunderclap makes my ears ring and pain explodes in my skull before I fall as the world leaves me.

I blink after a moment, my eyes stinging from feeling dry and the blurred world clears up. Loud shouting is muffled by whatever my left ear is pressing upon. I'm slumped on something. I tighten my hand and realize that this is my mattress as the shouting starts to clear up.

"...you're gonna get us killed!"

I weakly raise myself up, my head still aching but the pain receding.

"Holy shit!"

I raise my head weakly and my sight clears up. I frown. When did it turn blurry?

I moisten my mouth, my tongue feeling cold and the roof of my mouth dry. I look up as I support myself with my arms and I find two guards. I frown.

I remember slashing at all those guards and all those scientists, rage coursing through me yet, strangely enough, I tried so hard to keep myself from killing them. I frown, almost scoffing. I should've just killed them. It would've made all this so much easier.

I frown further on the subject, feeling frustration eat at me greedily, making my grit my teeth. Something's wrong. Thinking back to what I remember before, I was running at them, trying to get my phone. Then I was shot.

I feel skin close up. My blood runs cold when I realize that the tingling of regrowing skin cells is right at my temple.

"How the fuck is it still alive?"

My eyes snap open and my attention turns to the two guards at the front of the room. I frown. There's usually more when they come and get me…

My eyes move to the guards arms and the guns clutched in their grip. I suck in a breath, bristling up. Burning pain and agony run through me like chills and I tense up, feeling a small ache in my wrists. They shot me.

I stare at the guards as they speak in hushed tones, tensed up with my eyes trained on their guns. They shot me. In the head.

 _They shot me in the fucking head!_

"What the hell do we do? We can't let the board know that we almost killed it," one says.

I run all the things I know through my head.

 _My name is Roberta Lopez. My birthday is March 15, 1999. I have two younger sisters and one older sister. All in that order are named Alia, Maria and Yasmen. Their birthdays are March 10, 2003, November 3, 2006 and April 25, 1996. I have a mom and dad; Nohemi Lopez and Julio Lopez. We are all Mexican-American. I can speak Spanish, albeit my vocabulary is limited to my third-grade knowledge and what I pick up from relatives. Yasmen died July 22, 2014 and I graduated high school June 2, 2017. I graduated college August 11, 2021. I am a script writer and animator in LA. I live with my girlfriend, Kayla and my cousins are Ashley, Veronica and Azalia._

I open my eyes, relieved that I still remember everything.

"But...they have a weapon. They have an _unkillable_ weapon! They finally found one," the other stresses. Both look at me and I feel hatred and rage fill me.

Without warning, my claws shoot out and I cry out, running at them. I jab my fists into their chests, piercing the chest plates as they crack. Shards pierce my skin, adding to my rage.

How fucking dare they? How fucking _dare_ they shoot me in the head?

"I could've forgotten _everything!_ " I roar, pulling my arms back and running them through again. We landed on the floor and they're below me, screaming and bleeding. I hear them screaming and one sputters, coughing blood.

I repeatedly ram my fists into their chest uncontrollably, screaming and shouting as I do.

" _I could've forgotten her! I could've forgotten all of them you pieces of shit!_ "

I punch at them rabidly, even after they fall silent. I feel hot tears fall down my face and mix with blood as I keep piercing them savagely. The sound of my frenzied breaths and squishy flesh being penetrated are the only sounds that fill the room.

I let out one last cry before falling back on my knees, my breathing hard and my hands slick with blood. I sit back on my knees, staring down at the two men before me. They're dead.

Their chests are shredded up and their mouths fallen open, expressions of pain and agony written on their faces. I sit back. A small feeling of dull disgust fills me but not nearly as much as when I killed the man at the hospital. I should be feeling terrible. I frown.

Why couldn't I stop? Why didn't I stop before I got out of hand? I breathe, calming down from the intense rage that washed over. That was intense. I didn't know I could feel so mad.

I stare down at my hands, relaxing them and letting my palms sit on my knees, the blood soaking into the pants. My claws stick out as I stare at my red hands.

I feel the blood staining them. Even when I wash it off, I know that I'll feel the stains there. But strangely enough...I don't care.

I don't care that I killed them. Before I did and I don't understand why I cared so much.

I stand, my claws sinking back into my arms and I feel the skin of my hands close back up. I touch my head and I feel no pain. No entry wound. Nothing. It's almost as though I wasn't shot. But I was. I feel my temple and press a finger down to where I felt the bullet. It passed right through my head.

I grimace, staring hard at the ground as my fingers linger on the spot before a dark shape catches my attention.

I frown and focus on it. It's my phone.

I reach for it and hesitate, seeing my bloody fingers. I wipe my hand on my shirt and make sure it's dry before grabbing my phone and turning the screen on.

The screen isn't cracked, thankfully. I look down at the bodies and then my phone. Eh. I might as well.

I put the songs to play again. It's on Fallout Boy's "Save Rock 'n Roll".

I go back to pictures and think back to Yasmen. I need to have a picture of her in my mind because I'm scared that they're gonna take my phone away for good. Now that I think about it though, they might even take my mind. This is Hydra after all. They probably have a chair like they one they have for Bucky.

I swipe the gallery up, wincing internally at the thought of skipping over all those pictures of my family but I'm scared that I'm going to forget everything. They know that I'll live if I get shot in the head. They might want to clear my memory. I'm susceptible to any kind of bullet and they might just use one to get rid of those pesky memories and leave me an empty shell to fill with their propaganda and programming.

Now that I think about it, I'm extremely thankful that they don't know how much I know about this world. I even know the _future_. They would most certainly kill for that information. If they wipe my memory, then _no one_ has the information. I think it might be something better kept under wraps.

I want to at least see her once before I'm gone.

I swipe until I reach the end of the gallery, my phone announcing that I've reached the bottom with small words appearing in the bottom of the screen.

I slowly slide up, searching for a photo that I downloaded, one of Yasmen with a braid that I took of her. It was a creep shot and I took it when we were watching an anime in my old room at my old house in San Diego.

I soon see her honey-colored hair and I feel my heart skip a beat. The small thumbnail already shows a familiar scene that I can engulf myself in. It's taken from my "office", a small, cramped room where I had a desk with my desktop computer. I feel my throat tighten at the thought of not having her in my life. Even after seven years, the wound is still fresh.

I click on it and her face pops up with the background of my office. It's a portrait of her the top of her head down to her shoulders, her wild, curly hair held back into a braid of honey-colored hair. Tufts of baby hair still frame her hairline, straying defiantly over her forehead. Her thin wire-frame glasses sit against her small nose. Her round face is in a blank expression, her brown eyes staring into space since she was enthralled in the video we were watching. I smile weakly at the image. We looked alike. A lot of people told us and it was only when she was gone that I notice what they saw. When she was alive, all I could see were our differences. We were very alike mentally. She was my best friend. And though we never saw what other people saw while we were together, we couldn't help but take advantage of that around other people.

Anytime someone asked us if we were twins, we would answer with an eager "Yes!" or a sarcastic "Ugh, I wish we weren't." Just to make it seem genuine.

She and I shared a lot of the same physical traits. We were always on the plus-size of the weight scale. Even when I got here, I was overweight, but with the newfound metabolism and the lack of comfort food, the pounds have melted off. I've kept my muscle, since I've grown it over years, but I'm sure that my body will go on cannibalizing on itself if this diet continues.

She and I share the same round faces, though my chin has always had a cleft.

We both had terrible eyesight. I was legally blind and, I guess, that's gone too since I've been able to see perfectly fine without mine since I was at the hospital. Yasmen was close to legally blind when she died.

We were also close in height, though I beat her to five four. She stood at a measly five three. I chuckle at the thought. I would give her so much shit over that.

Thinking back to all those similarities, I mull over the realization that I lost most of those similarities.

I've grown thin and gaunt in this place, my cheeks only plump because of my natural face structure. My eyesight is nearly perfect now and the biggest difference of all is that, unlike her, I can't even die.

It's proof today. I was shot in the head. I took a bullet to the brain and I didn't die. I can't die. I can never die. Unless the adamantium that I assume they're gonna put in me at some point is going to make me waste away slowly like Logan did, I'm never going to die. Mom will die. Papi will die. Alia and Maria will die. Hell, even Polly will die. And I will never be able to see them again. Not even in the afterlife.

The sudden consequences of immortality hits me like a fucking truck.

I feel tears burn my eyes and the onslaught of sadness overwhelms me. The tears roll free and my breathing grows uneven as the meek noises that I make grow into sobs and screams.

C'mon, at least let me die!? At least give me that final reprieve for when it's all over! Can't the universe give me that? Why does it refuse to let me have what I want? All I want is to see my family. Really, the only option that ever really seemed feasible is just dying and seeing them in the afterlife. And if I can't even do that...what the hell would I do?

The thought shocks me to my core. I wouldn't get old. I wouldn't waste away in a hospital bed from the diabetes I was sure I would get, since it's basically inherited by everyone in my family. I would just...keep living. I would be ninety-nine and still fucking around, doing fuck knows what! I'd just...keep living...forver and ever…

I'd never see my family again.

I growl, pushing my claws out and growl at the discomfort I feel at only seeing two instead of three. They shouldn't be there _at all!_ I reach out, grabbing one of them. I cry out in pain and agony, sobbing over the resentment I feel for the new abilities and for the loss of luxury of death; of being able to see my sister again. Of being able to see my grandpa.

I'm just going to be trapped here in this cell for the rest of my life until they inevitably brainwash me and force me to become their Weapon X.

Is this really what my life is going to be like?

I yank my claw out with one final cry and that thought ingraining into my mind. I sit back with my claw in my hand and my other hand throbbing and bloody, twitching in my lap in pain before it recedes and I feel the new claw growing back.

Is this really what I'm going to spend the rest of my life doing?

I don't turn when the door opens next, the familiar smell of the nurse with her poison wafts over to me before she even gasps. I don't turn when I hear her scream and drop everything and I don't turn when she runs away. I sit there, staring at a picture of my beloved sister.

I make sure to take out the picture of Yasmen when the new guards come in soon enough. I don't want them to know about her, if they don't already. They take my phone, the bodies and Mr. Llamaka is in my cell. I don't bother to look at him because I could smell his irritation and feigned disappointment.

"I am very disappointed in you, Subject 23," he says quietly as the bodies of the two guards are taken out. "You were so close, Subject 23. So close."

He pauses, his mouth exuding the smell of tobacco and chicken and peas he must've eaten earlier. "They are going to resort to more...aggressive measures to have your cooperation, Subject 23. This will be the last time you see me."

I struggle to find fear that my head tells me I'm supposed to fear. "More aggressive" is obviously a euphemism here. They're going to go from cruel to downright violent and merciless. Yet, somehow, I don't care. They're gonna wipe my phone sometime soon. All my memories and music and family will be wiped from existence. I can only assume that they never existed here, so if they're not in my phone, they're not anywhere.

My head tells me that now is the time to run. I fucked up. I know I did.

I think about Bucky and how fucked up he is and then Wolverine. Both of them have something in common and, though it is ridiculous to think, I've come to believe that something in the universe brought me here to be this world's Wolverine. Just a guess though.

Well. The Wolverine, as we all know, has memory issues. Now, I have a really close idea of what they're going to try to do to me sometime soon. They're gonna try to break me. To brainwash me to be another soldier for them. They've been waterboarding me regularly but I feel like more violent and cruel methods will be put into play.

They're gonna make me another Winter Soldier to do their bidding. The only difference would be the name. Instead of Winter Soldier, it would be Weapon X. And simply regaining my memories would be a pain in the ass.

All that shit is going to happen to me because I fucked up. And still, somehow-after all of those thoughts!-I don't care.

Now, thinking about my family and then having those memories, those precious moments, ripped away from me...that makes my blood boil more than ever.

I'm left in the room for the rest of the day and I lie back on the mattress, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. I expect for dread to fill me as I wait for them to come in and sweep me away, take me to be waterboarded or introduce me to something new. One of the more "aggressive" tactics that Llamaka was talking about.

It's still dark and damp in the room but by the time my internal clock tells me it's breakfast time, I'm surprised that it hasn't been served yet. I frown. Oh no.

I hear the pounding of heavy footsteps approaching the door and I sit up in my bed, turning to the door in apprehension.

Oh hell no.

They pause in front of my door and I could smell them. Gun powder and sweat mix outside, along with the smell of fear. I stare at the door, thinking back to my phone. It's been wiped. The only reason that I would never kill any of these guards is because I wanted my phone and I also have some sense of altruism or some shit.

Staring at the door, I find myself standing slowly. I don't want them in here. I don't want anyone in here.

I grit my teeth, my nose flaring as my claws shoot out of my fists. I lower into my combat stance, ready to attack. I'm not gonna kill them, but that doesn't mean I don't want to make them suffer.

The door opens suddenly and I rush forward with a shout, my voice tearing through the room like a wild roar. My claws dig into the faces of the first two guards, breaking their plastic, protective face guards and bullets shoot at my abdomen, making me cry out in anger and yank my hands back, the bodies dropping on the floor. I run at one particular guard and keep in mind the one beside him. I run both my hands through his gut and I kick back, twisting and pushing out my foot claw as I kick. The claws in his gut cut from the center to the side and my foot claw pierces the other man's neck.

He gargles something unintelligible but I don't pay that any mind as he falls to the ground.

I run through the crowd of guards and scream as bullets pierce my skin a lot more than my claws pierce theirs. My legs are being shot at a lot, making walking difficult with mangled leg muscles that are healing while being shot at over and over again.

At some point, a bullet hits a vital tendon, making me fall to my knees and they take advantage of this opportunity.

Restraints are clamped down onto my arms. An interesting thing is that they connect to my neck with a collar, forcing my knuckles to press into my chin. It also forces me to retract my claws, unless I want to pierce my own skull and cause any more damage.

They also make quick work of my immobile legs while they're handicapped and healing.

Soon enough, I'm restrained and able to walk.

These guards are not gentle at all. They shove me or yank me forward when I slag and they are not for any kind of conversation or noise. Our trip going down the stairs is beyond silent. It's incredibly eerie and filled with suspense.

I glance at each one of them. The face guards are completely dark. I can't see their faces at all. It's hard to find them human this way.

I grimace when we reach the first floor and take a deep breath, prepared to lose it when water fills my nose and throat.

We approach the usual room they use when I'm waterboarded and I almost step up to it myself when we're close enough but the first lead guard simply passes it without hesitation.

I frown when the following guards do the same until I pass it as well and I'm not corrected. I frown, glancing at the door and then the guards. They don't seem too bothered by it.

I turn to face forward once more and I bite my lip in apprehension. So I'm not being waterboarded today.

I look forward in trepidation. Whatever is happening is new.

New is never good here.

We approach a set of double doors and I frown at the sight of them. The doors are made of metal and reinforced with steel bolts. There's a keypad and scanner beside it.

The lead guard stands in front of the key pad and blocks my view. I listen to him type in a code and I see him reach forward. There's a moment and a small beep sounds. The door makes a whirring sound and then clicks before opening. I assume that he scanned his hand.

He pushes the door open and from what I can glimpse from around his frame, the room is full of machinery and grey, concrete walls.

I feel chills as the guards start to step inside, revealing more of the room. It rings a very alarming bell in my head.

I halt altogether when I see what's in the center of the room within a raised platform surrounded by machinery and one single chair in the center of the room.

I step back only to be shoved forward.

I turn and try to break through the tight ring of guards surrounding me. I cry out as they loop their arms around my waist and they lift me off the ground and walk forward.

" _No! No! Please, no! Por favor, no me los quites!..._ "

My speech deteriorates into incoherent ramblings of both languages.

 _¡Por favor! ¡Por favor! No…_

Fear and anguish pool in my stomach as we begin to walk up a small incline, one that feels suspiciously like the stairs the lead to the platform the chair is on.

They then drop me and my rear lands on tough leather. I attempt to stand but the butt of a gun slams down on my face onto my nose. I groan in pain, slightly dazed as I feel my hands be released from the restraints and my head pinned back as the collar is removed from my neck. They push my hands down onto the arms of the chair. My vision finally clears up to see the straps be secured around my wrists and elbows. I struggle as I feel another strap be tightened around my throat and I begin to breathe heavily.

Please God…

"Fucking assholes!" I shout, not caring that playing nice might offer me a chance to be spared this fate. I know deep down that it won't. "Fuck you! _¡Chinga su pinche madre! Los voy a matar. ¡Voy a arrancar cada de sus pinches hocicos!_ "

The threats only come out more fumbled and quick when my legs are held down as well and the machinery above the chair begins to lower.

I see a familiar headpiece begin to lower and I start to cry, empty threats leaving my mouth with no real promise or meaning.

I feel the cold metal touch my temples before I feel one last tear run down my cheek.

"I want to go home."

"You are Weapon X," a voice says. "You exist to serve Hydra and only Hydra."

Another shock breaks any thoughts I desperately try to bring up to not listen to the words, a practice I've gotten used to since the electro-shock therapy chair sessions began. This one lasts five seconds.

"You exist for Hydra. You are one of Hydra's greatest assets."

Another shock empties my mind of much else and I'm breathing heavily after letting out a scream from between grit teeth.

 _Think about puppies_.

For some reason, an old, blind, white dog appears in my head.

"Repeat it," the same voice says.

My eyes open blearily, my vision blurred and distorted from pain and stress. I see a figure but I can't see their specific details.

"Repeat it, Weapon X."

I snarl, collecting saliva in my mouth before spitting it out weakly.

Another shriek escapes my throat as another painful shock courses through my head and into my body, making me tense and cry out in pain. The shocks are messing everything up. I could feel it.

"Repeat it!"

 _I have two sisters...no! Three sisters. One's name is Maria. Then...Anahi? No! Alia...the other one is…_

Another wave of shocks runs through me and I scream to the heavens, my throat bleeding from the sheer force of my voice.

"You are Weapon X," the voice says. "You exist to serve and protect Hydra."

There's another shock and I grit my teeth as a scream escapes my body. My fists are clenched tightly, almost painfully. I can't breathe while the shocks pass through me, stealing more of my person and making my mind nearly unreadable.

"Repeat it!" the man shouts.

I'm not Weapon X. I'm not.

I had a name before. I know that.

I don't know what it was but my name is not Weapon X.

Pain splits my head in half as I scream out, this shock running long and powerful.

It's only natural to scream until I rip my own vocal chords.

I wake up in my cell and briefly wonder what it is today. Operation day, sparring or the chair?

I close my eyes, focusing on my thoughts as I set aside the plate of my breakfast.

 _I have three sisters. I have a mother. I have a father. I know another language...I think?_

I shake my head at that, unsure.

 _I am Weapon X. X-23. But no! I'm not. There is another name. They say there isn't but I feel like there is…_

They also say that I should not go looking into my mind. It's dangerous to Hydra and myself. I grimace at the words. _Fuck you_.

I may not remember things such as my name or specific life details, but I do know every curse word in the book.

The footsteps outside alert me to the arrival of guards and I bite my lip. I stand, claws emerging from my fists and I lower myself, ready to fight.

 _But what am I fighting?_ _Why am I fighting? I know I'm trying to get out but_ why _am I trying to get out? What else is there besides this? What is it I'm looking for when I get out?_

The thoughts cut short as the door is slammed open and guards fill the room, shields in their hands and guns at the ready.

I jump at them with a scream. _This. This is easy._ I kick a guard away and impale one's neck. I don't have to think when I fight them. I don't have to struggle knowing _why_ I fight them. I just do. It's thoughtless violence.

My fist drives itself into the gut of one particularly bold soldier that came at me with a knife. A deep slice in my ankle makes me fall and unable to move my foot. It begins to heal but by the time I'm able to move it, I'm restrained and being taken down the stairs. I could only assume that I'm being taken to the chair.

We arrive at the first floor and make our way to the room with the chair. I feel goosebumps rise all over my body as I see the door, the cold air hitting the exposed skin of my stomach and arms not doing anything to help. I don't particularly remember being changed into the sports bra that they gave me, but I do remember how drenched in sweat the old shirts they would put me in would get. I suppose they were annoyed by that too.

I'm looking at my exposed flesh of my arms and hips. I frown at the bare flesh. Something in my head feels extremely saddened at the sight of the markless flesh. My eyes are glued to my left wrist, feeling particularly saddened. I don't understand why, but the sight of the plain, pale flesh there makes my stomach twist.

I'm strapped in and being shocked to death before I know it.

I finish screaming when the voices reach my ears again.

"You are Weapon X. You exist to serve Hydra."

The words reach my ears and I know that they're familiar. Even sitting here, coated in sweat and throbbing in pain, they sound familiar.

Another shock causes me to scream out in pain and my mind is empty of all things. A heavy sense of loss fills me at the emptiness. It used to be full of things. Where did they go?

"You are Weapon X. Your purpose is to serve and protect Hydra. You exist because of Hydra."

I take in the words. I know that my name is Weapon X. Is that it? I exist because of Hydra? I protect them? Is that what's missing from my mind?

Another shock burns me from the inside out and I scream. It lasts five seconds before it stops.

"Weapon X. You are one of Hydra's best asset. It is an honor to serve and protect Hydra. Hail Hydra."

The words sink in. Hydra. It's the only thing that I can remember. If it's the only thing that I can remember, it has to be true, right?

Another shock makes me cry out in pain. So much pain. So much. But when Hydra's there, there is none. It's when it goes away that the pain returns.

"It is an honor to serve and protect Hydra," the voice repeats. It pauses. I sit there, weak and shuddering, sweat coating my body. "Hail Hydra," the voice continues. "Repeat it."

I frown. Repeat it. Repeat Hail Hydra?

A deep, faded instinct tells me not to. I don't understand why and I don't care. If I only remember Hydra, then what they are saying must be true. It's the only thing that I know.

I moisten my mouth, taking in a ragged breath before opening my mouth.

"Hail Hydra."

The words are hoarse and weak, but as soon as they leave my lips, the pain doesn't return. My limp body is released from the straps holding me down and I'm taken out of the chair. I feel glee fill me as I'm taken away from the chair. I don't have to feel the pain anymore.

"Hail Hydra," the voice from before announces loudly as I'm dragged out, supported by two men I can't bother myself to look at.

"Hail Hydra!" A chorus of other voices announce.

A deeply buried pit in my stomach grows at the voices.

I dig my claws into X-24. I lift them up as their blood soaks my knuckles and sleeves and they scream in pain and shock.

I feel a knife embed itself into my chest and I throw X-24 into X-20. I make X-20 fall on his back, knocking the breath out of his body. I've gotten stronger, much stronger. Especially with the strength training I've been receiving. My limit always grows higher every week I've gone. My current limit is four-hundred twenty-eight pounds.

X-20 rolls onto his feet and he stands, ready for my next move. I run forward with a shout, throwing a left jab but he dodges. As I follow through, I flip through the air, using the agility training that Colonel Grievans is giving me. A common move that he always said to use. As I twist in the air, I release my foot claw and I kick right into X-20's neck.

I tear through his jugular and land in a crouch as the two fallen Weapon X's lay behind me. They should take a while to heal. I grip the handle of the knife stuck into my chest tightly before yanking it out with a pained grunt, blood spurting out. It heals nearly immediately while I throw the knife onto the ground.

"Excellent, X-23!"

I stand, eyes looking up to see Grievans stepping forward. He gestures for two men to lift the two Weapon X's out and Grievans has me sit down on the bench and wait for another round.

I sit there, watching the fights, analyzing each move, every _possible_ move, and the skill of each candidate to predict who would win. Really. Sparring days are my easy days. It's days like these that I don't get lost in jumbled, hard to sort through thoughts because I am preoccupied.

"Subject X-23!"

I look up, my eyes falling on the figure of Grievans calling me up.

"Subject X-18!"

I walk up to the mat and turn to face my opponent. It's a woman of maybe my age, possibly older. She had a knife and I push out my claws. I focus on her stance and her hand preference. She'll get a few hits in. But if I get her while she's following through with a strike, I will defeat her.

"Ready?"

I lower myself into my stance and prepare to pounce.

"Go!"

I wake up in the morning to my breakfast and eat it quietly. The guards enter the room as soon as I finish and I let them escort me out. We reach the medical floor and I realize where we're going before we reach the room.

The lead guard opens the door to Doctor Mangold's room. I notice that he's the only inhabitant in the room and I recognize that today is a physical evaluation. I've been getting more and more of those lately.

"Good morning, Weapon X," Doctor Mangold says.

I don't reply. I just look at him as he looks up from his clipboard. He looks tired. He has dark rings around his eyes and his facial hair is much longer and unkempt than it was before. He purses his lips, turning back to his clipboard.

"Okay then. Let's weigh you," he begins, gesturing to the scale. I obediently follow his directions and guidance throughout the exam until I frown at his question while he measures my height.

"Weapon X," he whispers quietly. "What's your name?"

I look at him in surprise.

"Just tell me," he continues as he takes measuring tape and wraps it around my arm.

I frown. "Weapon X."

Doctor Mangold looks at me and his hands drop from wrapping the tape around my other arm. "They put you on the chair, didn't they?"

I nod.

He curses quietly, running a hand through his hair. He looks at me. "When did they start doing this?"

I frown. "What?"

"When were you first put on the chair?" he presses.

I frown, trying to think about it. "I don't know." Wasn't I always on the chair?

Doctor Mangold sighs, running a hand over his face. "This isn't good. I told them you weren't ready for that."

I stare at him for a moment. What does he mean I wasn't ready for that? Does he mean the chair? I look away from him, smelling his frustration. This is strange. He's different from the rest. Every time I look at him, emotions of anger and hatred rise up. They're faint but they're there. But, bizarrely enough, he's my favorite person here. He's the the nicest person, compared to all the others in this place.

Well, I suppose this place is home. I don't think I've been anywhere else before.

A sudden, knee-jerk reaction within me asserts that that statement is false. It hurts my head and makes me wince and grab my head by the temple. I hiss through my teeth when an image of a house pops up in my head. My breathing turns shallow at the sight of it, images of me approaching it with a bag slung across my shoulders and pressing in a code to unlock it make my head feel like it's cracking wide open.

 _4723_. Those are the numbers that unlock the door and let me step in.

I whimper as the images of the house leave my mind. What was that? What was that place?

A deep twist of sadness in my gut makes my eyes tear up.

"Weapon X!"

The voice is low, muffled. I frown when I realize that it's because both my ears are covered by my palms, the heels of my hands digging into them.

"Weapon X!" the voice repeats as I lower my hands. I look over at Doctor Mangold and he looks at me. His hands reach out but don't touch me. He looks at me with concern. "Did you remember something?"

I frown, confused. "What does...what…"

He squeezes his eyes shut before his hands clench into fists. "Did you see anything?"

My mouth hangs open as I try to find the words. I nod, shutting my mouth before pursing my lips. "Yeah. I did….I saw...a house?"

Doctor Mangold looks at me before sighing a breath of relief. "It's coming back to you. Your brain seems to recognize that something's wrong. I wonder if it has anything to do with your rapid regeneration…" He then straightens up apprehensively. "Do you know your name?"

I look at him, confused. "Weapon X."

He shakes his head, running a hand down his face. "No. You're _real_ name."

I frown at his comment. Real name? What does that mean? My name is Weapon X. It's my _only_ name. "What _real_ name? I'm Weapon X."

He shakes his head. "No, it's not." My heart stops at his words. He doesn't stop there. "You name is Roberta Lopez. You are twenty-three and you are not Weapon X!" he asserts.

The words hit me like a bullet. My head feels like it splits open once more and I cry out, clutching it between my hands. Roberta Lopez. That sounds familiar, so familiar. But I've never heard it before.

"And if we get this right, you never will be."

Doctor Mangold's words make me look up at him, his figure blurred due to the tears and I frown at the sight of him, confused. I am Weapon X. Yet the name Roberta overpowers that thought. I frown. They told me I was Weapon X. I know that I am Weapon X. But Roberta feels so much warmer. It feels nicer.

"Come, Weapon X," Doctor Mangold says, approaching the series of tubes at the table against the wall. I stare at him, confused. Didn't he just say I was Roberta? "You can skip the adamantium today."

He continues to draw blood from me and sends me off with that. He forgot to give me the adamantium booster, but he told me he meant to do that. He also told me not to tell anyone. I frown, looking at the guards as we approach my cell. I still haven't told them. I should tell them. Hydra would want to know.

I feel a twist in my gut as they open the door and allow me to step in. Now's the last chance…

They close the door and I stand there, the twist in my gut worsening. I should've told them. Yet at the same time, another thing within me tells me that I shouldn't. That I did the right thing.

I sigh, the thoughts giving me a headache. I need rest.

I'm woken up earlier than usual. I could tell. I was asleep when the guards showed up and I hadn't eaten anything yet.

I follow them up the stairs. There's about five guards accompanying me. Three of them smell strange. I narrow my eyes at the particular three. They seem dangerous.

We continue up the stairs until we pass the third floor. We used to stop there but not anymore. I wonder where we're going.

We continue until we reach the sixth floor. We stop in front of a door labeled X-003. The lead guard opens the door and we step inside. I quickly scan the area.

It's a room with bright lights overhead. Just like the rest of the rooms, the walls are concrete and there are monitors and rail bars. One strange thing is that the concrete floor is beneath us at least four feet. What we walk on is a grated metal floor. In the back there is a window to another room with scientists checking monitors and other equipment. In the center of the room, there is a massive set of metal tubes connected to the ceiling, hovering a few feet above a metal table with restraints on it. Underneath the table is a rectangular hole just wide enough to accommodate the size of the table. Beneath the hole, there is a large tank of water with more machinery lining either side. Standing beside the table is a man in a white lab coat with a soft blue shirt and khaki pants. He holds a clipboard in his hands and he checks over the machinery connected to the tank and the machinery stuck to the ceiling.

I check his chest and find a name tag. The name on it is Gerling. And he's looked up from his clipboard and at us. I watch him warily.

Gerling checks his watch. "Right on time. Get her on the table and restrain her."

The guards step forward slowly, almost reluctantly. I step forward reluctantly, as well. This man is a new face and new faces are never a good thing. Especially new faces without explanation.

"Who are you?"

Gerling looks at the guard that asked the question. "Doctor Gerling. I am the doctor supervising the procedure."

"The doctor that's supervising the procedure is Doctor Mangold," the lead guard corrects.

A scientist from the back comes along after Gerling gestures for him to approach. "Mangold was called in for classified reasons," Gerling says. "I was appointed as Weapon X's new supervising doctor."

Hearing this, I feel disappointment fill me. I actually liked Doctor Mangold. He was nice and caring. Unlike Gerling. I could smell his lack of concern.

"I could vouch for him," the approaching scientist Gerling called over says. "Cornelius appointed him himself."

I still feel at unease at those words. I should be feeling fine, especially since Cornelius himself chose Gerling. But I don't think this is okay.

"So, as I said, get her on the table. It'd be better to have her stripped down to her undergarments," Gerling instructs as the guards remove my cuffs.

I remove my shirt and pants reluctantly. I never felt comfortable undressed, even with undergarments on. I could feel every tendon, every vessel exposed to the world to be stabbed, sliced or pierced. I swallow as I'm instructed to sit on the table and lie back.

I feel the cuffs close up around my wrists, neck, waist and ankles. Dread fills me as alarm bells ring in my mind, telling me that something terrible is coming.

I've been briefed on the procedure. It's painful. I should expect to hurt _a lot_. But I'll survive, especially with my healing rate.

"You are aware of what's going to happen, right?" Gerling says as he places a breathing mask on me. I nod hesitantly.

They place wires on with stickers on the ends on my chest. Wires to read my heartbeat and blood pressure, just to check that I'm still alive.

I don't feel particularly alarmed or afraid until I start to be lowered. My breathing turns quick and shallow as I watch the mechanical tubes overhead grow more distant as I descend down with the table. It isn't until now that I notice that the tubes have sharp, long needles at the ends.

I see the scientists and guards start to move away as I'm lowered. The scientists to the monitors at the end of the room talk, their voices muffled by the glass, and the guards just walk away and stand against the wall. As the table is lowered, I resist the urge to start to twist my hands around, trying to see if there's any way to slip out of the restraints. I'm going to be fine. They told me that I would be fine.

I look around, feeling the water level slowly rise higher and higher until I'm completely submerged. I could see what's happening up. I could still see the guards through the metal grate, the light overhead blaring down at me but obscured by the machine that will stab hundreds of needles deep into my body.

I start right when the machines moves closer to me. On the glass at the side of the tank are black circles where tubes go through. Metal tubes with gigantic needles at the ends with thinner metal supports that extend them toward me. I can only assume that the tubes are what is going to be pumping the adamantium in me.

I could hear the scientific talk outside. It's muffled by the water and unclear but it doesn't hide the sudden shouts outside. I frown when I see a flurry of action happen at the end of the room where the guards are. I see a figure stumbling from their side and, once they get closer, I see a disheveled Doctor Mangold. My eyes widen in surprise. He looks terrible. He's stumbling forward into my clear view, very close to the surface of the tank and I see that he's bloody. Very bloody. He's holding his side in pain and his face is bruised and broken. For a man who prides himself on his looks, he clearly is in too much pain to care.

"Call it off!" I hear him shout, holding his free hand up. I widen my eyes when I see that in his hands is a gun. He turns to the guards behind him and gestures with his other bloody hand. I see the guards move in their place but I can't see what they're doing. "Reinforcements are coming soon! Call the procedure off. Now!"

The guards move to stand next to Mangold, their guns trained on the scientists. They start to move around the tank with me in it and Mangold stays in his spot. He looks down at me and then the scientists. "Get her out! Now!"

I stare at him in confusion. He's trying to get me out? Why? This is supposed to be happening? Why is he doing this?

I look to the right where the scientists are and I see them all stock still, frozen and unsure of what to do.

"I see what happened," Gerling's monotone voice says. "You're a mole. You're the mole that's been fucking shit up."

A mole? There's a mole in this facility?

Mangold shrugs, gun still raised steadily. "I try my best to mess your operations up, but really, it was a team effort."

His words make my stomach drop. Oh no.

"Cut it off!" another voice snaps. "Get her out of there now! Your operation here is over!"

I'm scared to believe his words. I struggle to keep myself calm while I'm underwater, cold and cuffed to a metal table. He's a traitor. A traitor to Hydra.

I struggle against the cuffs, making the water splash and catching the attention of Mangold. He gives me a small smirk. "We'll get you out of there. Our reinforcements are on their way," he reassures me. "Sorry for doing this to you."

I shake my head, simply struggling against the cuffs more when I hear guns fired and then the needles continue moving. My blood runs cold and my eyes widen I see the machines lower into the water in front of me and then needles at my sides come closer, a hair's breadth away from my skin. The news of Mangold's betrayal and the fear of the pain just add more pressure to my chest and mind. I'm scared to struggle more because if I move, I'm going to be stabbed by the needles.

I could still see Mangold and his horrified gaze as he sees the machines move. He looks up, eyes livid and fires his gun.

"No! Cut if off now!"

I see the machines over me continue their descent and I struggle to not let out a whine. I don't want this to happen but Hydra said that I had to. This will help me fulfill my purpose. I bite my cheek and watch the needles descend upon me with my jaw clenched.

"It can't be stopped now," I hear Gerling slurr. His voice sounds very moist. He sounds like he has been beat senseless. "You're gonna regret coming here."

The needles above me barely graze my skin now and my tears mix with the water I'm in. The world slows down as I watch Mangold reach forward for the machine, grabbing it and trying to pull it away, but it refuses to budge. I take one long, steady breath before the needles pierce my body and I suck in another breath at the pain, breathing unsteadily. There were needles behind me. I didn't notice that until they stuck into my spine.

It's a small moment of peace before my body begins to burn in my very core, every inch of my body on fire as I scream in pain.

This is worse. So much worse than anything I've felt before.

I open my mouth enough for the breathing mask to be ripped off my body and I spasm, shaking my head against the needles stabbing into my face and setting it on fire. I scream, my breath escaping my body in bubbles that I can hear rise to the surface.

I shake in pain, wondering if I should stay still and bear the burning within my body or struggle against the needles to get away from it all.

My heart races and I feel like I'm in boiling water soon enough. The burning starts to reach my skin and I cry out more, openly struggling against the needles that are bringing me all this _pain_.

I scream more, clenching my fists and struggling, unable to move much due to the restraints and the needles. Soon I run out of breath, sucking in water in an effort to breath.

I start to choke, seeking for oxygen that I'm sure I won't be able to find here.

How long is this going to last? I feel like I'm going to die. Maybe I will die.

The burning spreads through my entire head and I feel slightly dizzy and disoriented. This is what it feels like to be cooked alive. I stop struggling, too tired to struggle now. The dizziness gets stronger and I relax, letting the water fill my lungs. I wonder if I stay still long enough, maybe I could just die.

It's blood red behind my eyelids. I wonder if it's because of the light above me or if it's because of the burning heat.

The next thing I'm conscious of is the needles leaving my body and clicking back into place at the side of the tank. I open my eyes blearily and I see the needles above me rising out of the water.

I cough, trying to get the water out of my mouth and lungs but still struggle. I'm still hot. My skin is still burning and my bones feel like they're cooking me alive.

I struggle against the cuffs weakly and I feel the table start to move up. I widen my eyes in excitement and relief. I watch as the table rises painfully slow and I try to suck in a breath but the water still occupies my lungs. I stretch my neck out as the surface comes close and I break through the water, coughing and spitting out water, blinking rapidly to clear my eyes. I hack all the water out, taking in deep breaths as the table continues to rise higher and finally stops.

I fall back against the metal, the pain receding and replaced with fatigue. I need to take a long nap.

The cuffs suddenly open and I look up and see Gerling standing over me. His hands grab my waist and yank me off the table, pulling my off the side and onto the ground.

I land in an exhausted heap, looking up and noticing that he's yelling at me. The loud noises in the room slowly start to make sense.

"...comply! Get up and make sure that I get out of here alive!" he shouts, dragging me up by the arm and holding me in front of him with a gun pressed into my back.

I look around at the scene blearily, eyes stinging and still coughing. I see Mangold and a few guards standing before me and Gerling, guns raised and aimed at us.

"Weapon X, attack them!" Gerling snaps, pressing the barrel of his gun more into my spine. I simply stare at Doctor Mangold ahead of us, brows furrowed in confusion. Why is he doing this?

"No, Roberta!" Doctor Mangold says, lowering his gun slightly. "You don't want to do this. You know who I am, right?" he asks, gesturing to himself. I frown. Why would he ask such a redundant question?

"It's no use, Mangold! She's been on the chair!" one of the guards snaps.

"She's going to kill us!" another guard says, his gun aimed more towards me now.

Doctor Mangold holds his hand up abruptly and the guards stiffen, frozen in their positions. "No! Don't shoot her. Besides, it won't work." He looks at me before taking a deep breath. "You know who I am, right Roberta?" I stare at him before nodding reluctantly. "I promised that this wouldn't happen to you and I broke that promise. They found me out. But you don't have to do this," he tells me. "You don't have to be what they made you. You are not Weapon X."

A shot behind me makes me jump, the volume of the sound making my left ear ring since it happened right beside it. I see Mangold drop and I gasp, letting out a cry.

"Asshole!" Gerling hisses. His gun goes back to pressing to my neck. The barrel burns my skin. "Now do as I say, Weapon X! You serve Hydra!"

His words clear my mind and I suddenly recognize where I am and what I'm meant to do. I need to do this. This is what I'm made for.

"Kill them!"

I walk forward without warning and I leap at two of the guards, claws out. I frown at the sound of my claws shooting out of my fists. It sounds like metal scraping and I feel a mild burn when the bones scrape the carpals in my wrists. But the pain is small. Nearly unnoticeable.

I jam my fist into the one on the left's neck and kick the one on the right's side. I make sure to drag my leg all along their abdomen to slice their organs. I stab into the guard on the left's chest and keep my claws in their neck before lifting them up and tossing them away.

I spin when I feel a bullet his my spine and ribs. I frown then I don't feel them embed into my bones. Whenever bullets hit my bones, they would lodge into the bone. Now they just scrape it or halt completely. It still hurts, but it's odd enough to notice through the pain.

I continue to turn until I face the one guard that's left and I leap at him. She cries out before she's cut off by my claws piercing either side of her face. My claws pierce past her helmet, faceguard and skull. I see her suck in a breath before the blood seeps out of the helmet and down her neck and she hangs limp. I retract my claws and she falls to the ground.

Silence fills the room after she falls and I straighten up.

I look over to where Gerling is and I frown when I see his slumped body is on the ground. I don't have to take in the smell of his blood to know that he's been shot.

I do take in one smell and hear a small choked breath. I turn around and I see Doctor Mangold on the floor. But instead of seeing him dead and lifeless, his chest is quivering while rising and falling shallowly. I approach him with reluctant steps. I have to kill him. This is what I was made for.

I look down at him and I see his eyes open. I feel my mouth twitch to make a deep frown as an ache fills my chest at the thought of having to kill him.

His eyes move to me and I kneel down to meet him. I scan his face, wondering if feeling sad is the appropriate reaction I should be feeling for this task.

"You don't have to do this, Roberta," he wheezes, his voice thick. He keeps calling me that. That strange, odd name. He swallows. "But if you do, I don't blame you." One of his hands is clamped over the bullet wound on his stomach. His other hand is laid by his side limply. He coughs and winces before reaching into his pocket. "Take this," he grinds out, gritting his teeth when he shifts his torso to make reaching the pocket of his coat easier. I watch his hand with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "It's yours." He pulls his hand out and between his finger and thumb is a small, tiny chip. I frown at the sight of it. What is that?

He holds it out to me and I take it, despite everything in me telling me not to. This is Doctor Mangold. He betrayed Hydra. I have to kill him.

I look down at the chip and hold it in my palm, staring at it. I look back at Doctor Mangold in confusion. What is this? He just looks at me before laying his head back, resting it on the grated floor.

I stare at him. I should kill him. I have to.

I clench my fist with the chip and my claws shoot out, their color now shifted from the dull yellow-white of bone to a metallic silver grey. I'm tempted to glance at the in curiosity but I have a duty to Hydra. Killing this man is part of it.

My hands tremble as I hold Doctor Mangold's lapel tightly in one hand and the other is raised to strike with my claws out.

I bring it down and I feel a deeply-buried, muffled part of me cry out as I slam my fist down into Doctor Mangold's skull, claws penetrating his cheeks, slanted to pass through his skull. The lack of resistance throws me off, but I assume that it's due to the new structure of my claws.

I keep my eyes on his the entire time and I see his sad, tear filled eyes widen in shock before they relax and his pupils dilate, no longer able to contract. They are unseeing and dead.

I killed him.

A horrible wail fills the room and it isn't until my throat starts to turn sore that I realize that it's me. I pull my arm back and I sob when Mangold's head is pulled up slightly and dropped back when the claws finally pull out completely.

I release Doctor Mangold's coat, and his body relaxes against the floor. I sit back on my heels, my mouth hung open. My chest aches in sadness and guilt, his empty eyes making my guilt increase by tenfold.

I hear the doors open but I don't stand alert like I've been trained. I don't spin around, ready to attack as I've been taught. The instinct isn't second nature to me yet.

Footsteps echo off the walls, alerting me that there are maybe three intruders and that they're beginning to approach me with hushed whispers.

"Did she do this?"

"That might mean she needs more time on the chair."

"No, this man was shot."

"Isn't that Doctor Gerling?" A small rush of steps reaches my ears before they halt abruptly. "Is he alive?"

There's a faint curse. "She's defective. We shouldn't have done the procedure yet."

A small weak cough breaks the stampede of hushed concern.

"She did it."

The small, raspy voice is familiar. It's Gerling's.

"She attacked you all?"

A small shift in cloth tells me that someone is moving. "She followed orders."

Silence follows his comment. He wheezes out a breath. "She killed the mole. She followed orders. I told her to-"

"Don't speak anymore, Dr. Gerling. You did well. Take him to the infirmary," the leading voice says.

I don't pay mind to the shuffling noises behind me or the voices regarding my progress. I just stare at Doctor Mangold's wide open eyes and the pair of holes in his cheeks, leaking blood.

"Her condition now is miles above her condition before," a voice says. I don't flinch even though I'm surprised to hear that voice so close. They are right beside me. I feel a hand on my back and I wince but do not move. I squash down the urge to spin around and impale the person who touched me, like I've been trained. I was only ordered to kill these people. To kill...Mangold. No more.

"Weapon X," the voice says. "Mission report."

I recognize those words. I have to tell them what I did now. That I completed the order and eliminated the threats.

"Threats neutralized…" I croak, my throat aching for some unknown reason. I feel my fingers going numb from squeezing my fist around the chip in my hand too tightly. I should tell them about the chip. "Received multiple firearm injuries, healed within five seconds of impact. Death by blood loss and…" I look at Doctor Mangold and swallow at the sight of the holes from my claws. "Brain damage via piercing the skull."

The hand leaves my back and I hear the person straighten up.

"I see..." There's a brief pause. "Stand at attention, Weapon X."

I hesitate, fists tightening and my lips pursed, eyes tearing up at the sight of a deceased Doctor Mangold. I've killed people. But I never wanted to kill him.

"Attention, Weapon X," the voice repeats assertively.

I struggle but I rise slowly. My hands shake as I dig my nails into my palms and my jaw trembles as the ache in my chest grows stronger, making me wince and squeeze my eyes closed. Why do I hurt so much?

I stand at full height and a man walks around me. The footsteps stop when they are beside me.

"Open your eyes, Weapon X," the voice says.

I take a deep breath, not wanting to but managing to open my eyes and looking at the ground. I see part of Mangold's coat and a gun stained with blood. I look away from that.

"What are you feeling, Weapon X?"

It's an odd question. They've never asked me what I felt before.

I purse my lips, licking them before opening my mouth. "I hurt. Somewhere...in my chest," my voice is shaky and my throat is sore.

There's a small hum from the man beside me. "I see…Weapon X's progress is slow but it is progress."

There's the sound of concurring hums. "A few more sessions on the chair and the completion of her training should have her prepared to go out in the field within the next three months."

"It would seem so."

"I must admit," a voice says from the group behind us. I haven't turned around yet and I really don't care to. "I was skeptical at first, but it seems as though you were onto something. Your work has truly succeeded, Dr. Cornelius."

I clutch the chip in my hand tighter and decide that I don't want to tell them about it.

I'm taken to the washroom, left to step inside the shower stall. I look back at the guard standing at the door and then look down at my bloody fist. The chip is still inside it. I remove my blood stained and torn clothes, carefully making sure to not let go of the chip.

I look up inconspicuously where the soaps are and I turn on the shower, making sure to have my movements be smooth as they always are. Simple things like movement can give away suspicious behavior. I reach up for the bottle and grab the soap bar with the hand with the chip, tucking it securely in the skin between my thumb and my index finger. I grab the soap but make sure to drop the chip as quickly as I can.

I leave the chip on the platform and make sure not to look at it while I wash off. Throughout the entire process of washing off the blood from my hands and my neck and chest, a voice in my head tells me that I'm a traitor. I should tell them about the chip and ask them what it's about. Ask them how it could be mine when nothing is ever mine.

I finish washing myself off and I place the soap back, picking the chip up as I do.

I wipe myself dry with the towel and I'm given a new set of my uniform. I pull them on, making sure to nondescriptly drop the chip inside one of the many pocket of the dark cargo pants of my uniform.

I pull on the smooth fabric of the shirt over my covered chest and I turn to face the guard, signalling that I'm ready to go back to my cell.

I'm returned to my room quickly. The thought of the chip that was given to me by a traitor weighs heavy on my mind. My sole purpose is to serve Hydra. I was given that privilege since my creation. I am not like the other people in this world. I have a purpose and my purpose has no need for personal possessions.

Yet here I am, clutching to the chip simply because I was told it was mine.

I lie back in bed after standing in front of the door for a few moments, unsure of what to do. I reach into my pocket after I'm sure that there's no one within a ten foot radius.

I pull it out, staring at it, unsure of what to do with it. It's a chip. One for some kind of technological hardware. It's so small, however. What would it fit into? It can't possibly fit to one of Hydra's computer systems. Even if it could, would they ever allow me to do such a thing? Am I one to demand things from Hydra if my purpose is to serve?

I shut my eyes, clenching my fist around the chip, a voice telling me to do so firmly, as to crush it and I agree with that voice. The chip could be a danger to Hydra and my duty to them. Yet my body ignores this command and clutches the chip just enough to hold it and not cause any damage.

 _It's yours_ , Doctor Mangold told me. Yet I don't see how a weapon can have anything.

 **Translation: I was born and grew up in San Diego. I identify as Chicana and in the Chicano community, we make the joke that we speak "Spanglish", which a mesh of English and Spanish because we don't speak formal Spanish so much. For me, I know the words and the occasion to use them. So my Spanish, especially my _formal_ Spanish, is kinda shit. Just warning you, in case the translations are wrong or not exactly accurate.**

 **"Por favor." = "Please."**

 **"No me los quites!" = "Don't take them away from me!"**

 **"Chinga su pinche madre!" = "Mother of fuck!" (technically, it's the equivalent to it "mother of fuck" or "fuck you", but the direct translation is "fuck your damn mother")**

 **"Los voy a matar! Voy a arrancar cada se sus pinches hocicos!" = "I'll kill you! I'll rip each of your fucking throats out!" ("hocicos" actually means snout, as in a pig's snout, but in this context, it means throat with the added comparison to a pig. This one's a bit iffy to me. I've said this before and my dad hasn't corrected me or anything, but if it's wrong, be sure to correct me.)**

 **"mami/mi ama" = "mommy/mom"**

 **"papi/mi apa" = "daddy/dad"**


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm sorry but if you want to see a new chapter, skip to the next one. This is basically the last third of the second chapter just because I was originally gonna have this be the beginning of a chapter by but I got impatient and wanted to put this in.**

 **Besides, I feel like the ending of the last one felt like a complete chapter. This felt like an unnecessary addition to the chapter and would probably work on its own. It's the shortest chapter so far, in terms of word count but I actually like it. Kinda shows how much I deteriorated within this MCU. I wonder if I'm a masochist.**

* * *

I sit on the bench while watching the other Weapon X candidates spar with each other. The spars have been getting more brutal and Colonel Grievans has stepped down from giving us orders to stick to the footwork and technique, allowing us to grow into our fighting skills more naturally unless our developing style is detrimental to our ability to subdue enemies.

I still haven't been sent on a mission yet, despite having gained the official designation of Weapon X. There is one thing that they want to test out before I am sent out and it will be tested out today.

They worked on me yesterday on the operation table. They managed to coat my claws in a thicker layer of adamantium and sharpened them. They are thicker than before and with the way they sharpened the claws, they are no longer spikes within my body, but blades.

Indestructible blades for an indestructible weapon.

I watch as Subject X-30 makes a mistake in her footwork and knife pierces through her wrist before Subject X-17 flips in the air with a twist, kicking X-30 down and effectively incapacitating her.

I was brought twenty minutes ago and three spars have happened. I still haven't been called up to spar.

I watch as guards take X-30 to the bench beside us, the heavy smell of her blood filling my nostrils, inciting some animalistic instinct within me that makes me want to charge at anything with my claws out. The urge has been growing more prominent with each round in the chair. I've been taught to suppress that savage urge with psychological training and breathing exercises after a particular incident at a lab.

My hand twitches to push my claws out when Grievans calls out my designated title.

The urge obviously hasn't been suppressed as much as it should be.

I stand and move to the mat, stopping at the usual spot my sparring partner and I begin with.

"X-15," Grievans calls, waving the man over.

The blond, bearded man stands and moves over, his tall figure looming over me, even standing six feet away from me. He takes the knife Grievans offers him and his eyes fall on me. They're cold and calculating. His fighting skills are extraordinary and his strength is immense. His healing rate is quicker than the rest, but not as quick as mine.

With him and his lumbering figure, staying low and striking fast should help me defeat him.

My claws shoot out of my fists, the new shape and sharpness allowing for a somewhat cleaner and less painful emergence. I don't pay mind to the way that the claws glint now. I do, however, pay mind to the nervous smell and fidgeting from the newer recruits and the candidates that haven't been on the chair yet. So the metal claws are more intimidating. Something noteworthy when facing an adversary.

"Ready?" Grievans asks, his whistle poised in front of his mouth, ready to blow.

I lower into my stance, taking a deep breath.

The whistle blows sharply and X-15 runs at me immediately. I run forward as well, planning to duck under the coming swipe of his knife.

I duck the swipe, though he does manage to clip my ear and hair, which is beginning to grow long. I slice his side, the new bladed shape of my claw making it easy and clean.

I spin around but meet the heel of his boot. His kick is strong enough to knock me off my feet. I land on my side and roll into a crouch and brace for X-15's assault. I hold my arms up, blocking as he slices at me with the knife, opening wide gashes on my forearms before I manage to parry the strikes with my hands and block some punches and keep his hand still long enough to strike his torso a few times before he switches hands and slashes at my gut. I use my claws to block the strikes following that moment.

Sparks ignite when the blade strikes my claws. I remember that adamantium is indestructible and I dodge a strike before catching one particular swing to strike back.

There's a small spark before the tip of the knife falls to the mat.

I make the mistake of freezing in mild shock. The half a second was enough for X-15 to grip the broken end of his knife tightly before ramming it into my throat.

Pain makes me gasp, but the intervening blade doesn't allow for breath. Blood leaks out and a hand grasps my throat and tightens. X-15 pulls the blade out and lifts me off the ground, my feet dangling as they leave the floor mat.

I feel my throat heal and see X-15 pull his other arm back, ready to strike at my abdomen.

I'm quick to stab at his arm with my fist, the claws penetrating the skin easily. One thing that I can't help but notice is that, while it was easy to crack bone with my claws before when I was freshly operated on, it is close to effortless to slice through the bone with the bladed claws. Not simply crack through it.

It is incredibly evident with the way that X-15's hand falls to the floor without the rest of him.

I don't waste a second. Ignoring his screams of agony, I spin around, kicking high as he crouches over, clutching his bleeding stump as it pours blood into a puddle on the mat.

I push out my foot claw as I kick and I'm able to follow through with the kick as the claw cleanly slices X-15's throat. After slicing his throat, I jump and kick him away, knocking him off his feet and landing on the floor in a bloody heap.

I land on the floor with one knee on the mat and the other poised to help me spring forward should X-15 rise to fight once more.

He lies flat on his back, still gargling his blood in his throat to breathe but he doesn't rise. I've won.

I have three more spars after that.

Three more candidates end up losing a limb or two by the end of the day. Most of them are given appointments to visit the scientists at the cybernetic amputee department later.

I'm congratulated and told that I will come to serve my full purpose soon.

* * *

 _Cresting._

I cry out, the screams ripping my throat painfully. The words make my head throb and my chest ache with how intense my breathing becomes.

Another intense shock rattles my body, my teeth clenched tightly as I try to hold in a scream.

 _Serenity._

I let out another cry as my body and mind resist the numbing sensation that the words start to spread throughout my being. I could feel my thoughts leave me as another shock runs through me.

 _Crane._

My mind feels like it's being torn apart and I want to raise my hands and claw at my scalp in an effort to make the pain stop.

My muscles are coiled up tightly and I scream. I feel a slight pain in my knuckles as the thick claws shove aside the bones, forcing their way out. I feel my feet experience the same sensation.

 _Emergence._

Crying out, I thrash back and forth, scrambling to escape the words and the pain that they bring.

 _Lawless._

I cry out, my thrashing growing more violent. My screaming sounds more like an animalistic yowling. The ache in my head becomes overwhelming. I start to run out of breath.

 _Opulent._

I let out one last cry before sudden exhaustions washes over me.

My eyelids relax and they cover half of my eyes as another shock runs through me, painfully running through my muscles and making them tense up but I'm too exhausted and my mind in too much pain to scream.

Muffled words reach my ear but the pain numbs everything.

"... _X? Weapon X? Are you with us Weapon X?!_ "

"... _hasn't been responding to...fifth time…_ "

Another voice joins and the low voice of this man makes my eyes open slightly, finally having enough energy.

"... _won't need this kind...better off…_ "

" _...she's reacting unexpectedly...not in the way we want…_ "

"...send her back."

I'm dragged back to my cell, loose-limbed and pained. I don't rise until the next morning where the words begin to take up a new niche in my mind. Something within me recoils from those words, finding them volatile and hazardous, as if they will devour me alive.

They collide with that savage, violent part of me, making me want to claw and bite into everything that I come in contact with. Tearing it apart.

 _Cresting._

 _Serenity._

 _Ibis._

 _Emergence._

 _Lawless._

 _Opulent..._

 _Renaissance._

* * *

I rise to the smell of broth and I eat the soup with the spoon provided to me, along with the loaf of bread. I hear the sound of guards outside the hall and stand, ready to be escorted out for the day's training or educating.

The door opens and a pair of guards greet me. I stand at attention while one takes the bowl and gives it to one bystanding assistant, a woman in plain blue scrubs. I don't bother paying more attention to her after deeming her a non-threat, despite the familiarity I feel and a ghost sensation of a pin prick at my elbow.

The guards escort me without shackles, as they've been doing recently. We make our way downstairs and it's when we reach the first floor that I expect to go to the chair.

I follow the guards with my hands held tightly to my sides. The visits to the chair are frequent, close to every morning before training or learning of enemies to Hydra.

Shield, The FBI, the CIA, MI6 to name a few.

The topic of the Avengers is fairly new. Information of the previous organizations is scarce. I only know what I need to know, such as contacts within those organizations and blueprints to their headquarters, each word hardwired and burned into my mind with each agonizing shock of the chair. I've only gotten to learn the blueprints and headquarters of the Avengers organization.

The familiar door becomes closer with each step and a long buried urge to turn the other way is ignored by my body. The leading guard unlocks the door and opens it. I step in after the other guard and the other holding the door closes it, falling in step after me, making sure that I do not run, though I never find any reason to anymore.

My steps are smooth calculated as I take in each scientist and guard in the room, even the ones behind the window in the back. One guard with a twitchy hand stands beside the ramp leading to the chair, though his badge indicates that he has recently been cleared to work with level 8 subjects, such as the Weapon X project. He must be new.

I dismiss him. He's the most dangerous person in the room, and that's only because he could accidentally shoot someone with his fidgeting fingers.

I stand before the chair before being seated. The straps are fastened around my arms and I feel the leather dig into my wrists, neck and ankles, as soon as they're strapped in. I see a few men in uniform without headgear step into view and a small whirring and lowering of a bar tell me that I'm going to be learning more about Hydra's enemies.

Another mechanical whirr on either side of me make me aware of the incoming headpiece about to set on my head in a few moments. The cold metal touches my newly shorn scalp and I hold in a shiver. The bar lowers until it is maybe a yard from the control panel a few feet from where I'm positioned, within perfect sight. I watch as a light from the lowered bar lights up, synchronized with another light at the panel and the space between the two lights up into a screen with an assortment of pictures and documents and some videos. I see one man in a suit be handed a small control from a scientist and he nods, moving toward me and I hear his footsteps stop beside me, maybe just a few feet away. All the scientists and guards clear the area around the new screen and the man at my side clears his throat.

"Today, you will be learning about another enemy of Hydra, Weapon X," a heavily accented voice says from beside me. An image of an A with an arrow pops up in the screen and I frown. That symbol...it looks familiar. Something fascinating and exciting. Something that I used to know well….

A shock rocks my body and my mind, making me cry out in surprise and pain, caught off guard by the familiarity of the symbol and the shock.

The shock empties my mind of any thoughts I had prior to the day. Stores them somewhere else and eliminates any detrimental to my purpose.

"The Avengers are a team of skilled assets founded by Shield and include members that are a danger to Hydra," the voice continues.

I open my eyes meekly, replacing those images with the new one on the screen.

It's a man in his late thirties, possibly, with a neatly trimmed goatee and dark hair. Images of stage lights and fabulous mansions and technology come to mind, though I can't imagine why.

Information about him such as his date of birth, physical characteristics, nationality and the like. I notice the word Aliases and underneath it is Tony Stark and Iron Man.

"The current members consist of: Anthony Edward Stark," the man continues. His footsteps circle around me, but he doesn't step in front of me. "He was a weapons designer that created an armored suit filled with missiles, tracking and detection technology as well as enhanced strength and flight." The image changes to one of a metal armor of red and gold next to schematics on the suit. "It is truly a weapon of mass destruction…" The image switches to a video, grainy and blurry in quality of the suit flying through a building, debris and dust falling to the ground and switching to another where he blasts armed guards and agents outside of a building that I recognize as a Hydra base due to the uniforms the agents wear..

As I watch the video, I recognize that it is taken from a security camera high on a building, looking down at it, yet when I watch it, I could almost imagine happening closer, at a different angle, almost making the destruction look heroic.

A shock courses through me, setting my mind straight. He is the enemy. Should Hydra need it, he will be eliminated.

"The next founding member is Steven Grant Rogers." I'm panting, leaning back into the chair as my breath leaves my body in deep exhales. I open my eyes and see a blond, muscular man. His information is displayed next to him. Underneath Aliases, I see Steve Rogers and Captain America. "He has been an enemy of Hydra for a long time."

Images of a man in a blue, red and white uniform appear the screen. Footage of him disarming Hydra agents and destroying our bases riddle the screen and are burned into my memory as another shock courses through me.

I feel the memories from before, the memories of Hydra, clash and rage against something much older. Something harsher, yet warmer and kinder.

Another shock quickly corrects this defection within me.

"This is Natasha Romanoff," the voice continues, oblivious to the defecting within me. I open my eyes, continuing to take in the new information. "She is another of the Avengers. One of the founding members."

The voice explains to me why the red headed woman on the screen is an enemy of Hydra. His voice somehow is the only thing I hear while another shock instills his direction in my mind, my screaming doing nothing to drown him out. Thoughts on the woman performing other feats of action and espionage aside from those shown on screen run amok in my mind, quickly being suppressed by the programing of the chair. She is a very skilled adversary. I should engage her with caution.

The image changes to one of a man with brown hair and black suit and the name _Clint Barton_ is seared into my mind.

"Retired now, but still a danger. You might run across him in future missions, especially if he still associates with the Avengers." Footage of him performing rather unbelievable feats of marksmanship plays. "Do not engage without caution." the voice says sternly.

I wince, squeezing my eyes shut as shocks pulse throughout my body. I grip the arms of my chair tightly, feeling it begin to creak beneath my fingers.

Thor is the next one to be presented. Images of the bearded blond and a hammer fill my mind. I cry out as another shock cements his status as an enemy in my mind. A meek man comes to mind at the sound of Bruce Banner and I see green rage tearing things apart, destruction and despair left in its wake.

Enemies.

They're all enemies.

"The Avengers," the voice continues. "Have expanded their ranks." An image of a decimated city fades into view as the image of Bruce Banner's counterpart fades out. "After the fall of Sokovia, the Avengers found it fitting to take two traitors to Hydra into their organization after their three members retired." An image of a woman appears on the screen. Her hair and eyes are brown and her skin pale. I find her face familiar. I know her by another name. A witch, I believe. "Wanda Maximoff and her brother," the image changes. "Pietro Maximoff have joined team, both voluntary experiments to Strucker's project regarding an alien scepter."

Footage of the twins disarming and destroying androids and guards both triggers something familiar and unfamiliar. A few controlled shocks help me realize that they are enemies, regardless of their familiarity.

"Joining the team is also Vision," the voice continues, bringing a new face onto the screen. "A synthetic man with a powerful object embedded into his head, powering him and giving him abilities beyond this world." I wince when one particularly vivid vision shows him being brutally attacked, the stone on his forehead being ripped off. The images fade and footage is pulled up of him using the very same stone to bring down aircrafts and run attackers through.

The next image makes everything within my mind freeze. Not even the shocks have as great of an effect on me.

A woman with a round face and glasses is on the screen. Her hair is wild curls spun of golden copper, shiny and fluffy to the camera. Her eyes are honey brown and her nose small and pink, like her mouth. Her face is a healthy bronze tan and her glasses are thickly framed with round lenses. Her face has a small hint of a smile, despite it being a picture simply for identification.

The information next to her is displayed and my heart refuses to beat within the seconds that I scan her face.

 _Name: Yasmen Lopez_

 _Date of Birth: 04/25/96_

 _Age: 19_

 _Sex: Female_

 _Race: White_

 _Species: Human (Modified)_

 _Ethnicity: Hispanic/Latino_

 _Nationality: Mexican American_

 _Hair: Blond_

 _Eyes: Brown_

 _Height: 5'7"_

 _Aliases:_

 _-Angel_

 _Affiliations:_

 _-Avengers_

 _Threat Level: 7_

"This is Yasmen Lopez."

But how? How is she _alive_?! How can she be alive if she died years ago? I saw her die! Images of her grey body invade my mind, the accompanying hollow sadness and despair make my heart heavy.

But if she is _here_...maybe I can find her. Maybe I can find her and we'll be together again.

A bizarre sensation of sadness and anger course through me as images of that girl laughing and walking alongside me invade my mind. Happy images with happy thoughts, joyous and inviting. Full of laughter. The fact that the days are long passed make my fury grow.

This woman-this kind, compassionate woman is Hydra's enemy. If she is an enemy of Hydra, isn't she my enemy?

 _NO,_ says the growing sensation of fondness and mirth. Gritty yet kind thoughts lie within that space of my mind. It is not something of Hydra. Which seems impossible, since I am Hydra's creation. Yet there is something more within me. Something hidden away, almost lost.

No. Not lost. Silenced.

And they are not images...

 _They're memories_.

This is Yasmen Lopez. She is my sister.

"Another enemy of Hydra…"

Those words incite the burning in my veins along with the following shock. He doesn't deserve to know about her. He doesn't deserve to even _think_ of her name!

The waves of electricity course through me, threatening to wipe those memories from me again. Those precious memories.

" _No!"_

The word is screamed just as much aloud as it is in my mind. It's more akin to an animalistic shriek than a scream. But that doesn't matter now. Saving these memories is.

My mind spins as I struggle against the chair while screaming, the shocks of the chair rendering me to spasms as I struggle against the straps.

I hear screaming that isn't my own, some demanding to get me under control, others to increase the strength of the voltage. I cry out harder, yanking my hands in an effort to release myself from the binds.

I clench my fists, my claws shooting out of my hands, adding to the pain and rage I feel.

They made me forget her. They made me forget everything. I don't even know what I've forgotten but I know that I must've forgotten more if I forgot one of the most important people in my life. I scream, using all my strength through the pain to pull against the leather straps and I feel one give, my hand breaking free.

I bring my hand up, swinging wildly at one of the supports of the headpiece taking my memories and feeding me lies.

It falls from my head and sweet relief fills me as the burning ceases. The metal falls to the floor with a clang, ringing throughout the room as silence befalls the area. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and relishing in the sensation of my healing body and my slowly recuperating mind. My neck relaxes to the point that my head leans back and my back falls into the chair. My figure is coated in sweat, the cold air chilling the exposed skin, the combination of the cold air and my burning body gives a somewhat pleasant sensation in the relief of escaping the clutches of the chair.

Clicks fill the room and I tense up. Machine guns are being armed and raised, aiming at me. I'm fighting Hydra.

I am fighting Hydra.

All those chants and thoughts of serving Hydra and my purpose in this place plague me, making me shake my head and growl, confused. _You are Hydra's greatest asset. Your purpose is to serve and protect Hydra._

I open my eyes, peeking through the narrow slits with my neck craned back in a relaxed position. Guards stand in front of me and scientists pressed against the walls, staring at me afraid. But my eyes fall on the image of my sister on the screen. The fire returns to my blood.

I look at the leather on my other wrist and I know that I have to be quick to get out of here without being subdued. No doubt that the scientists will report my escape quickly. In order to leave without calling too much attention, I will have to eliminate them. I am going to have to get out of this chair within three seconds and kill the guards before the scientists gather their senses and report my defection. I grit my teeth, taking a deep breath and preparing myself.

I swing my claws down onto the leather restraint on my restrained wrist. The claws cut through the material cleanly with close to no resistance. I am quick to cut the straps of my neck and break through the straps of my ankles with sheer strength. The guns in the hands of the guards spew bullets only after I'm free, and four hit my chest and shoulder, making blood burst out and soak my clothes. The bullets either pass through me quickly or get pushed out and the wounds heal fast, causing no physical handicap.

 _Your purpose is to serve and protect Hydra_.

The words make my head feel like it will crack in two but I take a deep breath, gritting my teeth past the repeating mantra in my mind.

 _Hail Hydra._

I run forward with a cry, my claws swinging down on their weapons and slicing through them, rendering them useless.

I swipe at the guard on the left, my claws hitting their neck and I cut through completely. I don't keep my eyes on them long enough to watch their head roll off their shoulders. I instead follow through on the swing, slicing into the other's arm and causing their arm to fall on the floor.

He screams and clutches his oozing stump. I slice at his throat with a shout and leave him to fall on the floor while bullets hit my back.

A bullet hits my ear, making me hiss. I feel one hit the side of my jaw and the bullet lands on the top of my tongue. I growl, the heat of the bullet burning my tongue. I spit it out as my cheek heals.

I roll away from the bodies and find the next threat.

My eyes fall on four incoming guards and I run at the closest before any more bullets can be fired, jumping at them and digging my claws into their chest. Blood sprays my face after gushing out of their chest, staining my cheek and eye. I close my eye as I grit my teeth, tasting the iron liquid. I see a guard get close and I leap off of the dead guard with a kick and jumping at the next guard, swinging and catching them in the neck, slicing through and splattering blood on the ground and the next guards approaching.

They shoot their guns and I feel one hit my forehead. I don't wince despite feeling my skin peel off and burn. I don't wince when the bullets shoot through my arms and my stomach, blood spilling onto the ground. But the bullets don't penetrate my bones, making the bullets hitting my head only a small annoyance and irritation, the smell of blood only spurring me on. A snarl twist my face, baring my teeth as my eyes focus on the guards holding the guns.

 _You exist to protect and serve Hydra. Your purpose is to do as Hydra tells you._

I think back to how I would fight before-how I was trained.

I was taught to be like passing wind, silent but leaving nothing untouched. My mouth would stay shut the entire time, suppressing the animalistic urges I've been growing. I would not allow my body to grunt in exertion. I wouldn't bare my teeth when I got frustrated. Most importantly, I was taught to breathe in even, steady breaths; in through the nose, out through the mouth.

I don't do the breathing exercises I've been taught to do when I'm in this state. I don't hold it back.

I run at the pair of guards with a cry ripping from my throat. It fills the room and I see the two guards stiffen, as if they are facing a wild beast. The twitchy guard raises his arms once I gain on them, his hands shaking as they find the trigger. The other seems to snap out of his fear because he soon does the same, with more precision and accuracy. One runs forward, his hand reaching for more ammunition at his side and the other follows, still shooting and hitting my shoulder.

I don't care that the charging guards are not close enough to jump at, I leap at them anyway. They're nearly side by side. I know what to do.

I land at the one on the left with a snarl, mildly surprised that I was able to reach them, and jam my claws into their shoulders. I twist, using the momentum with practice and precision to lift my feet off the ground and swipe at the guard on the right with my feet, slicing through his jugular and causing a spurt of blood to spray over us as I release the guard on the left and land on my feet, looking around for the next threat.

I scan the room, eyes roaming over the cowering scientists and I don't find any standing guards. Glancing at the scientists, I look at the door. They won't stop me...but they are a threat to my escape.

 _You serve Hydra. You are one of Hydra's greatest assets._

I shake off the thoughts as I make my way to the closest scientists. She cries and covers her face with her hands. I hesitate before raising my hand and bringing it down on her skull, cutting through cleanly. She lands in a heap on the ground, the pool of blood on the concrete growing beneath her. Screams fill the room as I stand over her body.

 _Traitor_.

I look at the rest of the scientists that are all scrambling to get to the door. I see one pull out a small microphone device and bring it to his mouth.

"Attention! Weapon X is-"

My claw slices through his forearm before he finishes his sentence. He screams as his arm falls to the ground, hand releasing the microphone communicator. The small black device falls into the spilling blood, staining itself red.

I bring my fist into the scientists jaw, effectively silencing him as my claws penetrate the soft underside of his chin and poke out of his forehead. His eyes roll back and I pull my hand back, eyes falling on the rest of the scientists. One manages to get the door open and two scramble out. I leap at the frozen three staring at me, kicking one with my foot claw and cutting the heads off of the other two. I check the room to make sure there's no scientist alive before moving through the doorway and look down either side of the hall.

 _Asset is defecting. Report issue to Hydra._

Shaking off the thoughts, I zero my focus in on the retreating figures of the scientists. They are running toward the farthest door that leads to the training arena with all the combat operatives and Weapon X candidates, since they should be awake by now.

The hall is empty of guards and I hear movement in other rooms and outside of this hall coming from the training area. The stairwell seems to be silent.

I think about the chip, the one that I still have tucked underneath my pillow in my cell. I need to get it. It's mine.

Staring at the retreating backs of the scientists and I turn the other way, deciding that my priority is the chip.

I dash down the hall, eyes set on the door at the end of the hall and retracting my claws. I keep an ear out as I run, listening for any footsteps besides mine. The halls are usually empty when I'm escorted out so it's safe to assume that I shouldn't stumble upon a guard until a few minutes. I hear one scientists contacting some guards in the training area already.

I push open the door and I begin my ascent up the stairs. I rush past each step and feel my heart race at the thought of the chip. Maybe parts of my past are in the chip. Things that aren't Hydra. Maybe things about Yasmen.

I rush up the stairs, jumping from one step to the other in a desperate race against time. Guards should be on their way by now. I might be able to get to my cell before they reach me if I'm fast enough.

I pass the fourth floor when I hear the distant sound of rushing footsteps. They make metal ring with vibrations, telling me that the guards that have no doubt been sent to stop me. They're coming from the other section of the facility and making their way here on the metal catwalks above the training center.

I reach the final floor and one final burst of energy allows me to leap over the final steps to the door of the cell block. I open the door and run inside the hall aligned with cells.

I run down, my room in mind, and stop at my room.

I look at the lock and I bring my claws down on it, cutting through it. I pull the door open and rush inside, eyes falling on the cot with my pillow over it.

I rush to it, breathing heavily and hoping that it is still there. Kneeling down, I grab the open end of the pillow cover and I pull out the pillow. At the bottom of the bag is a small, dark chip. Reaching inside, I take it in my hand, placing it in the center of my palm and looking at it. I still don't remember what's inside it. What information is has or whether or not it's worthwhile. But if Hydra was hiding something from me, it has to be inside this chip. Since I was always a weapon to Hydra, I never owned anything. I know that I didn't receive this from Hydra, someone else gave it to me. But I know that the person told me that it was mine. Maybe they mean it in the way that I'm hoping it will.

I take it and I reach for the breast pocket of my shirt, which is where I usually keep it during sleep, but remember that I'm donned in the sports bra that they provide me because my shirt would be too sweaty after being on the chair. I slip it into my pant pocket instead, the one with the zipper, and zip it closed. I don't want to risk the chip falling out.

I hear rushing footsteps and I stiffen. I close my eyes, listening to the footsteps as they echo down the stairs. They're approaching quickly. They should be maybe seven floors away.

I think back to the blueprints of the facility we occupy. Learning the facility we operate and location was something to learn. All secure Hydra base locations as well as other locations of other organizations. I know that ours is inside of a dam with a river flowing under us. All of our water comes from that river and we filter it, using it for power. I also know that at the end of this cell block is a hall that I've never been to, but on the other side of the concrete wall is nothing but a five story drop into the waters of Alkali Lake.

I focus on the rushing footsteps again and notice that they are approaching quickly, but not quick enough to be able to stop me from reaching the other end of the hall.

I clench my jaw, standing up straight and pushing out the claws from my fists, keeping the ones in my feet in since they are more of a disturbance when running than my hand claws are.

I pull the door open and I slip out, running the direction opposite of the running footsteps in the stairwell and staying low to the ground. If I am to encounter a guard on the way there, I'll make quick work of them.

I rush past each cell door, ignoring any curious glances from the inside of each cell. I don't pay mind to the peering eyes. Any guard would ignore any tip off a captive would give. Who would believe mere property and traitors?

I reach the door at the end quickly. I reach out and try to twist the knob. I'm not surprised to find it locked.

I spare a glance to my claws. They've cut through stainless steel knives and many firearms. I'm sure they'll be able to handle simple steel doors.

I hesitantly raise my hand, biting my lip in doubt. I settle my gaze on a spot over the knob and the locking mechanism. If this proves successful, I would be able to cut through the lock and open the door.

Bringing my hands down onto the door with a grunt, my eyes widen at the sight of the claws causing a brief shower of sparks before embedding themselves into the metal of the door. If I had followed through with the hit with no hesitation, I would most definitely have made two deep cuts into the metal in two parallel lines.

I force the claws farther down, making sure to cut into the lock mechanism.

I feel a brief, _very_ brief, lack of resistance before cutting through the rest of the way. I attempt to yank my fist out of the door but I end up bringing the door along with it.

I stop, slightly startled at the unexpected ease of opening the door. I close it back up, my heart racing at the thought of someone on the other side having seen it. I hold the door closed with my other hand and slowly remove my claws from the door. I keep quiet, listening and struggling to stay silent in my frustration when I hear approaching footsteps.

They're slow and calculated. I can assume that it's a very well-trained guard. I hold the door close, closing my eyes to listen to the approaching steps, estimating that they are maybe three meters away.

I listen to each step, acute of my surroundings. I have half my mind focused on the guard's footsteps and the other half focused on the suspicious sound of stampeding steps.

The footsteps are less than one meter away now and I tense up, my fists twitching in anticipation.

The sound of static sends my nerves in a frenzy.

"North Hall, fifth floor, I think I got something," a voice says, presumably in communication with someone else.

I feel my heart race. He's going to alert the others of my location.

"I believe Weapon X is-"

Tightening my hold on the door, I swing it back, opening it and springing out. I ram my fist into the throat of the guard, taking him out before he's able to register my actions or speak further and he slumps against me, his blood wetting my bra and skin. His finger relaxes on the radio he had, unable to press down on the transmission button and it drops on the floor. I pull my claws from his throat and lean him against the wall. There's no hiding him and I'm sure the others are on their way. This hall goes on for nearly fifty feet and it is lined with doors leading to cell blocks like the one that I came from. I could already hear the pounding footsteps follow my previous route down the hall toward me.

Outside of the wall in front of me is my escape. Fortunately, I was given the ability to escape these thick walls by Hydra. Yet unfortunately, my time is short.

 _TRAITOR._

The words make me wince as a sharp pain accompanies it.

 _Traitor._

 _Weapon defecting._

 _You were created to serve Hydra._

 _Your purpose is to serve and protect Hydra._

 _Hail Hydra._

Opening my eyes and forcing my way through the pain, I step forward. Ignoring the way that my head feels like it will crack in two, I stumble to the wall, leaning on it with my hands spread wide, my claws protruding from the spaces between my knuckles. I stare at the wall, the pain making me only dully aware of the stampeding steps getting closer, as well as the smell of sweat and gunpowder. My heart races, the beat nearly deafening as it roars in my ears as I grow frustrated, unsure if what I am doing is right or wrong. What is this? Why is this happening? Why am I breaking protocol?

I want to blame the chip but I feel as though I am physically incapable of placing any fault on the chip. I suppose it's because of the silly attachment I've grown to it.

But something else, a weak voice in the back of my mind, is telling me that this is _wrong_.

I run my fingers into my hair, grasping at my scalp desperately in frustration and anger. I let out a shout.

 _What is right?!_

I hear the door on the wall behind me burst open, the noise grating on my ears and the following footsteps feel as though they are physically stomping on my brain. I bare my teeth with a hiss, spinning around and a bullet immediately hits my throat.

I cough, feeling the bullet pass through and I feel blood flood my airway. Stumbling back, I cough once more, spitting up blood before I feel my airway clear up after my neck heals. I register guards rushing at me and I grit my teeth, allowing them to near, watching in irritation at the other doors in the hall begin to open one by one, allowing more and more guards to stream inside the hall.

I narrow my eyes as I pierce one of the guards in the head with a well-aimed punch and kick another one under the chin, my claw spearing right through his head. I'm definitely no longer under the impression that they don't know that I'm defective.

I see the guards keep their distance, forming a semicircle and I already recognize what this formation will ensue.

I bring the body of one of the guards close to my person, blocking me from their line of fire.

The barrage of bullets hits the man before they hit me, only a few bullets passing through the man's abdomen and hitting me. I growl at the burning in my stomach, running forward at the bullets and throwing the man's body at the left side of the crowd of guards and launching myself at the right side, my claws sinking into the throats of two guards. I don't linger, immediately spinning from that pair to another guard, slicing through his gun and throwing a jab at their face, cracking through their faceplate and stabbing their head. Blood splatters on the inside of the faceplate and coats my fists. I feel bullets hit my back and I lift the man's body with a shout, spinning around and throwing him at the group that I see with guns blazing. He hits them, knocking them down and I jump atop their strewn bodies, slicing their throats and kicking another on the side of the head with my foot claw out.

I look up, staring at the group of guards with their weapons aimed at me with their hands shaking, reeking of fear and anger. I inhale it, taking in their sweat and blood, each breath making my heart race faster and faster. Launching at them with a cry, I break into a series of swings and kicks, slicing and slashing through the crowd and a multitude of objects fall on the ground, splashing on the quickly puddling blood: guns, helmets, armors, hands, legs, heads.

I catch a glimpse of approaching a brave guard coming from my right and I duck down, rolling to my back and raising my hand, hitting their thigh and cutting their leg clean off, the guard falls to his side, screaming in agony and I silence him with a stab to his face.

I roll to a crouch and I feel more bullets, this time aiming for my head. They seem to have forgotten that that no longer works.

I jump at the shooting guards with a shout, bringing one of my hands down onto one's gun and the other slicing through the neck of said guard. I feel a heavy object hit the side of my head, scraping my temple and I turn to see one guard holding his machine gun in a melee position, preparing to hit me again. I cut through it and I bring my claws through his wrist with a shout before punching both of his shoulders, running forward and shoving him into the guard behind him, throwing them both to the ground. I feel bullets hit my legs, coming dangerously close to my Achilles' heel. I turn around in a flash, staring at the guards who are quite dangerously close to taking me down.

I see a small group of three standing about five feet away. All guards have learned to keep their distance and aim well, forcing me to be very mobile. If they take away my mobility, I could be subdued very quickly.

I run toward them, arms spread wide and swinging at them, catching two of them in the arm and chest, leaving deep gashes. I then turn my attention to the one left standing, slicing at his neck, watching as his head begins to fall to the side and blood starts to leak from one line as his head falls to the ground. I kick my leg up, ramming my foot into the neck of the farthest one, quickly pulling out and slashing the chest of the one beside him.

With those threats neutralized, I have a minimal amount of opponents left. I briefly take in how much guards are left standing, and grimace when I hear an upcoming swarm stomping down the stairs.

There are seven guards left.

Running at a cluster of four, I jump at one, gripping him by the shoulders and swinging my legs up behind him, impaling the guard behind him in the head while raising one hand to stab him through the neck with my claws. I twist, knocking us all down and I rip my claws through his neck to support myself when I land, palms flat on the ground, splashing in the blood. I stand and run at the third guard shooting at me, spitting out a bullet that hit my lip and broke through a tooth and lunging with a scream at him. I tear through his chin, raking my claws up his face and I spin to kick at the fourth, petrified in fear.

The three left begin shooting wildly and I feel a single, burning bullet hit my eye, slamming into my skull and I scream, clawing at my face. I manage to gouge my eye out and the bullet falls out with the blood dripping down my face. I look up at the guards that continue to shoot, an eye less than I had before. I frown. It's an odd way to see.

I feel the optic nerve begin to regenerate itself at the base of my eye socket and I run at them, stumbling slightly, feeling off balance as I leap. I cut into one gun and jab at their throat and I cut off one arm, slicing their chest and I kick the last one's neck, making him drop when a flood of guards streams through the open doors that this set of guards just came through.

I blink, feeling my growing eye fill in the socket and gain vision. I watch as it grows from monochromatic to the color palette that I usually have.

Bullets immediately run me through from high velocity firearms. Most tear through me. The ones that hit my head make my mind ring painfully.

I kneel down, beginning to feel overwhelmed and weak from blood loss and recuperating wounds. I open my eyes, which clenched shut tightly during the assault to look down at the bodies underneath me. Protecting my face with my arms up, my eyes find one particular round orb with a clip clinging to the belt of one of the guards. I frown at the sight. It's a grenade.

I see the cluster of guards in my peripheral vision, stuck close together and aiming for me. Keeping their distance, unlike the group I just took down.

I glance back down at the grenade. I'm in luck that they are huddled so closely. Hopefully they stay that way at the sight of this.

I lower one arm to reach for it, ripping it from the guard's belt. I hold it, slightly unsure due to my lack of experience with such a weapon. I try to pull out the pin with one hand, unable to, especially with how inflexible my hand is with the claws out. I bring it up to my other hand and I notice the bullets stop for a moment, this time concentrating around my hand to stop me from being able to use the grenade but I manage to pull out the pin and I throw it wildly into the crowd of guards, lowering my arms to see where it landed. I'm slightly disappointed to see that it landed more toward the wall than it did in the middle but I'm not allowed time to process this when a blast sends me on my back, into the floor as heat fills the hall. The floor rumbles and I hear something cracking and crumbling. I roll to my side, the wind knocked out of me. I regain my breathing and recuperate quickly, sitting up to see half of the guards collapsed or downed. Some are knocked toward me, groaning or moaning in pain, some missing limbs or suffering severe burns. I stand on my feet unsteadily, feeling the heat of the burned walls and scorched floor. Walking barefoot, I ignore the burning of the soles of my feet as I walk over to what I hope is not a hallucination.

There's a hole. A large hole in the wall. The smoke of the bomb is pouring out of the hole into the air outside, almost like it's desperately trying to get out of here as much as I am.

I feel a hard lump in my throat and my chest hurts at the peak of a mountain and a blur of green as I walk forward, allowing a larger view.

There's a tremendous sound coming from outside and I sniffle with a frown at the sound of it. It sounds like a loud roar, but any kind that an animal can make. Somehow, it sounds like nature itself.

Walking forward to it, my eyes scan the scenery and I feel tears stream down my face, the salty wetness managing to make it to my mouth before falling off my chin into the ground.

I rest a gentle hand on the side of the cracked wall, feeling the rough concrete that was blown apart to allow this opening.

Looking down, I see water pushing and splashing against the side of the wall. Moving my head up slowly, I take in the scenery.

It's a river. A large river, nearly as wide as this entire facility. I see the grey structure cut across the entire river and further on both sides, past trees and maybe even into the mountains surrounding the area. Pine trees cover every inch of the land I see, the dark green something earthly and nurturing compared to the sterile, artificial world I've been in for as long as I can remember.

I see the water of the river lap peacefully at the riverbank, feeding the trees whose roots have grown into it. I see the wild blue element rush toward me and I feel peace wash over me at the sight of it. I look up at the sky. Clouds blot out the sun, making the sky gloomy and grey, cooling the land and soothing my racing heart.

Mist kisses my cheeks, cooling down my heated skin. A sweet welcome into the world outside. I close my eyes, my mouth twisting into a mix of a grin and a frown as the tears run more heavy.

The sound of stampeding feet make my anger and fear return. They'll take me back to my cold, dark cell. They'll take me away from this. Away from my chances seeing Yasmen.

Desperately, I look down as my heart begins to race again. The river's water isn't splashing against the wall peacefully, it's rushing at it violently, as if it's being sucked in. Unless it _is_ being sucked in. I look at the entire expanse of the building, calculating. It _is_ a dam after all.

And all dams have a filtering system with turbines in them that propel the water further and create electricity.

Enormous turbines that weight close to one hundred tons and spin close to one hundred revolutions per minute. That would chop me up.

I bite my lip at the thought of having an adamantium skeleton. Adamantium is incredibly difficult to make in large quantities. There is no way that those turbines would be adamantium, therefore having the ability to dismember will be highly unlikely. I would just be extremely lacerated. And I can't drown, so I should be able to live.

I look back into the building with a frown. I hear the footsteps get closer. I can't let them get me again.

Without a second thought, I retract all my claws and I step off the edge, into the steep drop. The wind whips my hair out of my face as I drops, my feet pointed down and I try to keep as straight as possible, hoping that I don't break my legs, despite having an indestructible skeleton. I know that hitting water from such a high height makes the water feel like brick, but I can't take my chances with anything else.

I take a deep breath, heart racing as I feel the mist grow thicker and I feel immense pain in my toes and heels as I make contact with the water. I break through the surface, diving in deep and being engulfed in cold, frigid liquid. I look up at the bright, gloomy surface of the river, holding my breath as best as I can. It seems a lot darker than before.

I frown. It wasn't this dark before. Looking up at the surface again, I see that the sky begins to dim due to how deep the river is. My eyes look around me. It's getting darker and darker each second and the cold reminds me of my cell. I shiver, beginning to swim up. I open my mouth, immediately closing it at the sight of bubbles escaping and I look around, realizing that I'm going lower without swimming down. The suction of the dam already has me.

Beginning to panic, I try to swim up faster, my strong legs kicking me up as far as I can but the effort is fruitless because of the suction drawing me lower. Even though I feel myself moving forward, all I see is me being pulled back.

I'm pulled under further and I notice the darkness curling around me as the wild surface of the water gets farther away. I let out a scream but no air gets out. My lungs start to burn as I'm sucked passed some kind of gridded gate and then sucked further in faster. My head starts to ache and I finally opening my mouth, letting the useless air out as I feel water slowly fill my lungs.

I slip in and out of consciousness as I'm thrashed this way and that, eyes wide and searching for something in the darkness before objects start hitting me. The next thing I'm aware of is something slicing deep into my stomach and I scream, still unable create bubbles.

I close my eyes in pain and start to feel tired. Maybe if I fall asleep, I could die…

Coughing is the next thing that I'm aware of. I spit out water as I roll over and cough out, my face pressed against the moist mud of whatever place I'm in.

I frown, opening my eyes while squinting. My eyes sting and I take heaving breaths, eyesight blurry as they adjust to the light.

I'm on soft brown mud with water ebbing into my sight over the water. I feel the ebbing water over my body, falling and rising over my skin. I'm sprawled right on a riverbank, half submerged in water.

I frown, bringing my hands up and pushing myself up, blinking to clear my sight as I look around. I'm in a forest riverbank. The sun casts down on me through tree branches of pines.

I look down at myself and see that I actually am half inside water. It's a river and it rushes past gently. I look into the water and look upstream where it's coming from. My eyes widen when I see that the river goes for miles.

I lean back on my left elbow, mouth open and taking in deep breaths. I swallow, staring at the mud and rocks beneath me. I reach for them, picking up a small dollop and holding it in the tips of my fingers. I squish the creamy dirt, feeling the smooth yet grainy texture beneath my skin. I feel the edges of my mouth turn up as I smell an earthy, fresh scent. I've been outside before.

I frown when a sudden thought occurs to me.

I sit back, reaching inside my pocket desperately, finding the zipper of one particular pocket in my pant leg and I hastily zip it open. I reach in, hoping and dreading at the same time. Please be there…

My fingers close around a small, flat thing and I take it out, closing my hand around it. Bringing my hand in front of me, I bite my lip before opening my palm.

Relief washes over me as I catch sight of the copper of the chip. I audibly gasp and lean forward, my head hanging limply as I let my head drop.

Yes. It's safe.

I stay there for a moment, sitting still.

A small voice makes me sit up straight and finally realize that I don't know what to do. It says something familiar, yet I don't remember uttering such words. But they're the only words I can think at the moment.

 _What do I do now?_


	4. Chapter 4

I feel warm light hit my face, warming my cheeks and creating a mild glow behind my eyelids. I crack my eyes open as my cold form begins to awake. My stiff back cracks as I sit up, pulling my knees up and stretching my arms up. My shoulders pop and my tense muscles stretch slowly, like tough taffy. I groan, dropping my arms on my knees and resting them on there. I check my surroundings, seeing the dirt ground coated in dry brown leaves. I look up at the trees, the pines I'd trekked through all those weeks ago are replaced with average, much smaller trees whose limbs grow out every which way, enabling for quick escape when hungry animals get a bit too close for comfort. I did end up eating a mountain cat, however, when it got me angry by cornering me.

I tried my best to avoid it when I sensed it stalking me. I could feel the creature lurking behind me and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on alert while I tried my best to create a confusing, complex trail that would be close to impossible to follow but it managed to get me in a dead end ditch. I don't remember much because I saw red when it pounced, but I know that it ended with my fists pressing into its rib cage while my claws stopped its heart.

I stared at the beast for an hour after it took its last breath and its eyes dilated. I felt a heaviness in my chest while I looked at it. I wanted to move on and leave its body to rest in peace but my hunger won out by the end of the day. I tried my best to cook it up in a fire created by my claws. That was last week, and the dried meat I had leftover ran out the beginning of this week. My energy is running dry quick due to my advanced metabolism. My body could adjust to a lower calorie intake but that would take a long time and near-starvation to trigger that mechanism. I've been starved to discover this once in the labs. I don't like the feeling of emaciation; the need to have something in my stomach so badly, something to consume and the energy to simply walk around doing my everyday training and tests. I couldn't leave my room for three whole weeks by the end of it.

My stomach feels empty and I grimace, memories of being nearly catatonic due to hunger sending shivers down my body, rubbing my abdomen idly while moving to my feet. I lean against the tree I'd huddled against to sleep, its frail, orange leaves clinging to its branches by a hair's breadth. I push off of it, adjusting the material of my bra to cover more of my private flesh. It's turned a darker shade than it was before due to the sunlight it's been exposed to now that the scraps of textile is falling apart.

The bra was in somewhat perfect condition when I first began wandering in the woods. It only suffered a few scrapes and tears during my escape because of the explosion. Though it didn't fare well with the wolves I encountered the other day.

It was my third day in and the days were cloudy and grey. It was beginning to grow dark and the atmosphere was calm as I was. I've been getting sloppier due to exhaustion, allowing my feet to fall to the ground with each step due to aching muscles receiving less than ideal amounts of energy from my diet and my breathing has become heavier. I've given up being silent on my lost trek through these woods. It felt normal until I smelled an approaching danger. There was more than one and they smelled hungry and tense. I stiffened, coiled up like a spring and sensing an impending attack. I can only guess that they're closer than they would've been if I had sensed them earlier, like usual. The weariness is beginning to ebb my senses away as well, I suppose.

I turned slowly and, first, I saw one prowling wolf in the distance staying low and to the side of my view. It didn't take long for the others to surround me while I was focused on the one. I heard steps behind me and I growled, spinning wildly and trying to keep track of the ones preparing to lunge to stop them in their tracks.

I can't remember who struck first, honestly. I only remember sharp canines piercing my shoulder, my arms and legs. I remember one bit my breast, it's teeth sinking into the sensitive flesh. I cried out in pain and rage, my voice raspy and hoarse due to the lack of use. I sounded almost inhuman.

I struck at them multiple times, crying out in rage as I sliced at them. A lot of them bit at my shoulder, tearing the material of my bra in an attempt to go for my neck. One particularly painful bite took a chunk of my calf.

I don't particularly remember how the skirmish ended. They began to run off after the leg-chomper's head rolled with a sweep of my leg. I began to run after them with a scream, stumbling due to my reconstructing calf. I fell to my knee, breathing deeply while trying to ignore the iron smell of blood in my nostrils, urging me to give chase but my body refusing to comply due to weakness and fatigue.

I shake those thoughts away, adjusting the makeshift strap of my bra. I tied the stretchy fabric to what was left of the strap of my left shoulder. There's a few holes and the pull of the knot seems to put strain on the hem of the bra, separating the stitching, but I keep it that way. Thoughts of full body exposure remind me of being dunked in boiling water or scalpels and saws opening up my chest and checking on the condition of my organs. Tremors run up and down my body and my arms lock in their grip around me, hugging myself tightly as if they would stop any kind of attempt of said experiments. I suck in a shaky breath, letting it out in a hiss and I close my eyes tightly, trying to shut myself away from those thoughts lingering around me.

I take in another breath, making sure it's deep and calm when the images return tenfold in overwhelming vividity.

Instead, I am in my dark cell with no windows. It's smaller than before. I could feel the walls pressing down on me. Guards shove the door open, towering over me nearly twice as much as before. They grab me and I'm dragged from my bed, kicking and fighting.

I cough, my breath stuck in my throat as I force my eyes open. I shake my head vigorously as I try to regain my breath.

No. I can't close my eyes.

I lean by back against the tree, my heart racing and eyes wide open, fear keeping them from shutting for more than a second.

I need...I need to keep moving. Otherwise they'll catch up.

I make sure to leave as little of a traceable track as possible, though it is difficult with the confusion and mild headache I've had the last few days. Sticks and rocks dig into my feet as I continue through the woods. I nudge a strand of dark hair out of my face that began poking my eye. I frown at the length that it's grown. I don't have any idea why, but I imagine complaining about the amount of time it took for my hair to grow. I wince, the mild headache I've had lingering increasing. My mind throbs and I slow down in my steps, my face twitching into a grimace.

 _Seriously! Why does my hair take five hundred fucking years to grow?!_

I feel the phantom sensation of someone running their hand through my scalp, on the sides and back, then the crown. I frown, imitating the actions of the phantom and trailing after their fingers. Running a hand through my scalp and along the side of my head, I feel my head pulsate as a sharp pain suddenly spears through my brain.

I gasp at the pain before a passing vision fills my mind.

 _I run a hand through the shaved sides of my head, stretching the hair until the tips of my fingers hand on tightly to the ends of my hair. In the mirror I focus on the natural brown hair of the shorn hair on the side of my head. I mentally compare the length of the hair now versus the length of the hair from four months ago. The difference is minimal._

" _Goddammit," I groan, pushing the purple hair to the side and extend the hair as far as I can. "Why does my hair grown so damn slow?!"_

 _I hear a chuckle behind me and, through the reflection of the mirror, I see my roommate, Kayla, sitting on the floor by my desk with a smug smirk. I glare at her through the mirror and adjust my glasses._

" _You have old lady hair, man," she teases._

 _I frown, turning to her. "Does old lady hair even take forever to grow?"_

 _She shrugs. "Eh, I don't know. It probably does," she says dismissively._

 _I glare at her playfully, chuckling. "Fuck you, Kayla!"_

I stumble back, the newfound memory forcing itself back in, establishing dominance over the scrambled and disarrayed memories, refusing to be pushed away again. It stands amongst the thoughts I haven't been able to decipher or recall that are kept silent by Hydra.

I reach out blindly, staring at the ground and focusing on one single spot. I stumble far enough to reach a tree and I grip it tightly, pressing my fingers against the bark and allowing the wave of pain and nausea to pass. My fingers dig painfully into the skin of the tree, cracking it and making it pop and splinter.

This has happened more than a few times. It's been maybe three weeks since I left the dam and I've recalled about ten things and have regained maybe five full memories since then. I was sitting down after the wolf attack and inspecting my newly regenerated leg when I felt a jab of pain that had nothing to do with the attack. The image of a bird cage overwrought with vines and flowers with hummingbirds feeding from them. I gasped, blinking rapidly as I suddenly recalled other images and drawings that were inked into my body. I checked my forearm and felt my blood boil at the sight of bare flesh instead of my celtic symbol of my mother. I tried so hard to remember the face who inspired the need for that tattoo but it only hurt more to force the memories out. I stepped back and gave up.

The second time I looked into the water of a puddle I was drinking from. I saw my face for the first time in months. I didn't have much chances to become acquainted with the image of myself in the labs and I bit my lip, tracing the lines of my nose and jaw when I was bombarded by images of looking at myself in the mirror. I first had a soft, round face with a small nose and sweet smile, long brown hair past the shoulders. The face of a child. The next I had a more mature face, very round and a slight smile, chocolate brown eyes staring back. The next, I wore glasses and my face had matured much but the smile was gone. My face bore a neutral expression that I felt completely familiar with, despite never having seen it before now. The next image, the glasses are thicker but my hair is cut shorter and no longer brown. It is red and reaching my shoulders. My face was no longer neutral. A frown mars my expression. The next, my face is more mature but still round. My hair is shorter but the glasses the same and the frown still present. The hair is purple this time, but the sides shaved. Even though I couldn't see it, I knew that the back of my head was shaved as well. The next me is much older and the hair, instead of being a dark shade of purple, is a bright, pastel pink and the hair is still shorn and dark on the sides. My face still has the natural frown it has learned to make, marking the sides of my mouth and leaving lines on my forehead.

The last image was staring back at me from the water, the hair shorter than it had ever been, curling at my forehead and in a large disarray. Dirt stained my face and the frown was back, deeper and more rigid than ever. My face lost its roundness, instead taking on a sharp jawline and sunken cheeks. There are bags underneath the eyes and there was a lack of color, mostly due to the transparency of the water.

I stared back at myself, breathing heavily as if I was still reliving the memories. With each face I saw, I could feel the sweet, child spirit begin to dull slowly overtime with each new face. At this point, that spirit and seemingly always present happiness is gone. I felt the space between my eyes with my frown deepening. I wonder where my glasses went.

Among the other things I recalled, I remember mostly things about myself. I have brown hair and colored it. I've never broken a bone. My wisdom teeth grew out normally. I was always overweight. I liked drawing. They were simple stuff. Nothing monumental. Nothing about my family. Nothing about Yasmen.

Except for that one.

Kayla...who's Kayla?

I close my eyes and try to focus. Kayla...Kayla...Kayla!

I growl in frustration, kicking some leaves and dirt. Dammit! I press on begrudgingly, knowing that nothing will be coming for a while.

I slap away small flies that bite and cause itching while walking. I avoid any suspicious smells and I try vainly to listen to any creeping steps. Any rustle in the brush in the distance. I growl lowly, frustrated at my inability to perform such basic tasks.

My feet drag as I march on, brushing off a few splintering chips of wood that managed to sink into the skin from the sole of my feet. I swat the loud, buggering flies whenever their buzzing grows too near for comfort, growing irritated when I can only sense them when their needles impale my tissue. I kill them, but the minor itch is slightly uncomfortable. Fortunately, my body's antibodies make the bites affects wear away after a few seconds. I did have a hard time getting rid of this strange bug with a swollen belly embedded into the round part of my calf. I tried pulling it off gently before simply squishing the abdomen of it. I was mildly disgusted to see it full of blood and it dripped down my fingers. I wiped it on the fabric of my pants after determining that the blood was mine. It must've been some kind of parasite.

The sun's rays soon drain from the land and I'm submerged in darkness, the moon lighting my way. I wave away those pesky flies and perk up at the smell of an animal's predatory musk. I avoid that scent, continuing on a trail away from that creature until I couldn't smell it anymore.

I soon feel the weariness in my joints and the heaviness of my eyelids. I slow down, eyeing the spot beneath a large tree and walk to it, the leaves crunching underneath my feet in the stillness of the night. I kneel down, reaching down and feeling the cold, hard ground. I adjust to set myself against the tree and bring my knees up to my chest. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I bring my face forward to press my forehead against my knees and take a deep breath, closing my eyes and listening to the silence of the night. My stomach grumbles painfully and I grimace, reaching into the pocket of my pants and reach for one of the last pieces of dried up meat. My finger brushes against a flat, solid object that makes me stiffen before pulling out the sliver of meat and placing it between my teeth.

I let go of it, holding it in my mouth and reach back down to the pocket, instead passing the entrance and grabbing the zipper head on the side and sliding it open. I reach into it and feel the small, delicate material of the chip and pull it out.

I bring it up and hold the only possession that I have in front of me, staring at it.

I use my other hand to hold the dried meat while I nibble on it tediously, hoping to extend my time eating it. I flip the chip over, moving it to lie flat on my palm and cause the moonlight to hit it, creating a glint that reflects off the thin metal pieces.

I frown, staring at it. I still don't know what's in it. I'm sure that it will help me find my family, maybe even Yasmen. I frown, feeling my head ache. I could've sworn that I saw her dead when I first heard of her. I remember seeing her on a table yet she seems too joyful and lively to ever fall victim to something so morbid.

I wince at the sharper pain and I take a deep breath. Focusing back on the chip, I realize that I closed my fist around it. I quickly release it from my tight fist, opening my hand palm up. It's undamaged. I sigh in relief, pursing my mouth and staring at it for a while longer with my eyes steadily beginning to sting.

Once my eyes water, I place the chip back into my pocket and zip it up. Tucking my arms tighter into hugging myself, I shiver as a chilling breeze runs along the surface of the skin, stealing the precious heat from my body the longer it lingers. I force my eyes shut, trying to convince my mind to shut down. But all I see are the memories I've been able to recall and questions that refuse to go by unacknowledged.

Who is Kayla? Why am I so close to her?

The sudden loneliness makes me curl in on myself and my chest feels hollow, as if my body itself could feel the distance from my home and family. I'm lost in ways that go beyond looking for a map or flying a jet. I don't even know my own name and I have two names that I am familiar with. No way to contact them and not enough information to do that even if I tried.

I sit there until my head pounds and the sun rises, casting a dim orange glow and turning the sky a cool, dusky grey. I don't even realize that I kept my eyes open until a squirrel skitters into my line of sight, scrambling the foliage beneath its feet and catching my attention. My eyes sting and my body aches but sleep manages to evade me.

I sigh, shaking my head. It's not happening today.

Since the escape, I've fallen asleep fifteen times. All those times, I collapsed from exhaustion.

I always try to sleep. I really do. But my efforts usually never yield any results. The times that I collapse are usually around the afternoon or close to dawn. Those are the times that the exhaustion is unbearable. I thought maybe today that would be the case again, like it was yesterday, since I'm running out of food, water and I don't get a lot of sleep. I suppose it wasn't.

I was able to follow a river the majority of the weeks leading up to this moment. At some points, though, I was wondering if it's worth it. I've stumbled across many lynx and coyotes drinking out of that river. I manage to run away most of the time but there were those unfortunate incidents where only one of us lives, such as those other incidents. However, I needed the water, so I stuck to following that river closely. I'd rather not have relived the effects of dehydration on a body that cannot die.

The river, however, didn't last forever, and eventually led to its end. I wandered in my path in the woods, wondering where to go and what to do.

The terrain has been a lot smoother lately. Not much slopes or massive rocks to jump over anymore. Not much trees to try to look through. Taking light in the fact, I continue my lost journey, unsure of where to go.

The thinning trees lead to soft grass and I'm able to actually see past twenty feet. I furrow my brows when I see that further up, there is a large expanse of grass plains. I notice that the plains go a long way. I can't find any kind of thick forest ahead of the plains and it seems to go on for miles ahead of me. I grimace. Being in such an open area seems dangerous. I could easily be shot or found. Essex has drones and partners with satellite tracking. They could find me easily if I'm not careful. I stop in my walk, reluctant to move forward at the thought. Stepping back, I decide that I should stick to the thick covering of the forest.

I walk four more hours before it starts to get dark and then I walk four more hours after that. Tears build up in my eyes, squeezing past my closed eyes and running a trail down my cheeks. Lost. That's the only way to describe how I feel. I didn't know that feeling lost could be so terrible.

By the time the sun comes up, my tears are dry and I'm rested. I need to get home. That's all I can think of right now.

I stand, cracking my back and my fingers, and stretch all my tense muscles, sighing.

I walk along the forest floor, barefoot. Traveling along the edge of the forest, right before the open plains, I keep an eye out for any traveling cars or roads. I could follow them to civilization and maybe get some help. Although I don't know what I'd say to them when they ask me what help I need. I don't even know who I am. How would I know how to ask where I would find my sister? My family?

I spot some trees growing in the plains and I furrow my brows, following the trees and noticing the beginning of a forest growing closer. I raise my brows. That looks like a nice place to get to run to if this forest proves to dangerous or unsafe.

Continuing my trek along the outskirts of the forest, I continue until my stomach starts to grumble, demanding sustenance. I hold it with a grimace, looking around. I haven't found any rabbits or squirrels on this particular hike. I look at the plains in trepidation. I really don't want to leave this clear area in case I miss something important, like a roaming hiker or car. Maybe some forest ranger. I keep my eyes peeled for any human activity.

I push on with a grumbling stomach and force myself to stay on the path as my stomach grumbles and I start to crave food. I wish more than ever that I rationed the dried mountain cat to last far longer. I would've had maybe a few bites a day but at least I would have food.

It's no surprise when night starts creeping in slowly, seeping the light out of my surroundings and leaving me alone in the dark, as it always does.

It's at this time that I decide to go looking for food. Moving further into the thickness of the woods, I listen and look for scampering feet. As I adventure further in, I frown when I smell a particularly heavy and sweaty scent. It's dirty, damp and tinged with a strange tang of...something. I don't know what.

I actively avoid the direction that smell comes from, wondering if other animals smell that and they avoid it, just like I do. Maybe I'll stumble across a bunny. I grimace at the thought of killing another rabbit, but I really don't know any edible plants that would be in this area and it's not like there's anything besides leaves and sticks to eat. There's not even any fresh sprouts anywhere.

I listen with a sensitive ear, listening for the tell tale sign of a rabbit or squirrel scampering along the terrain within a fifty foot radius.

A small scream startles me, making me jump nearly three feet in the air.

I curse under my breath, looking around. It doesn't sound close. Whatever animal that was is…

"Mommy help!"

I stiffen, a searing pain burning those words in my mind as images assault me.

" _¡Mami ayúdame!"_

 _I say the words as I dash around a large tree, small barks following close behind me. I fall to the ground as I trip over a jutting root of a tree, my chin making harsh contact as the dog, a small poodle, jumps on my legs, its teeth mauling my ankles and calves._

 _A figure slams the spring door of the front yard open, running onto the grass lawn of my tia's house and rushing to my fallen form._

" _¡Quítate pinche perro!"_

 _The running figure, although I can't see her, kicks the attacking animal off my legs and picks me up, taking me in her arms. I look up at her with tear stained eyes but the sun blocks my sight of her face, making me wince and cry more._

" _Esta bien, mijita. Ya estas bien," she says, looking down at me but I stopped looking at her in favor of bumbling in tears into my arms, curling in on myself as my legs bled. "Ya no te va a pasar nada."_

I gasp, stumbling back at the weight of the memory. My mother... _mi mami_ …

"Mommy!" the small voice shrieks once more, pulling my slightly out of my thoughts.

That voice is a child. A child like I was.

The sound of heavy breathing and growls makes my heart race.

A child _exactly_ like I was.

Before I know it, my feet pound on the ground, jetting me forward in long strides. Twigs and sticks crunch underneath them and my arms pump up and down as I sprint through the woods, the child's cries making me more desperate. I breathe heavily, my breath coming out in grunts as I force myself to run faster.

"Help!"

Trees fly by me as I run on the dirt of the forest. Weaving through the brush in the darkness, I leap over a large rock, rolling as I land and sprinting once more to the sound of the child's cries. The smell of fear and tears makes my speed increase tenfold, thinking of the same overwhelming fear in my body when I was a child.

I finally see two figures in the dark and I see just what kind of danger the kid is in.

A large bear, a black one, is creeping on the child. The kid is a little girl. A blond one wearing pajamas and big fuzzy slippers. She's frozen in fear and I see the terror on her face and the sheen of tears on her cheeks. The bear stands before her, pacing back and forth after two steps in either direction. It's twitching and drooling profusely. The smell coming from it is angry and irritated, but confused. It's rabid.

I get close enough to leap forward, approaching the pair from a slight angle, just behind the bear. I could take it out from behind easily. My nerves are even more on end when I see the bear tense up. It's about to charge.

With a wild cry ripping from my mouth, I leap, claws shooting out of my arms. I land on the back of the bear, it's matted, black fur dampening with blood at my knuckles as I stab into them.

The bear roars and stands on its hind legs while I stick to its back. I kick my foot into its back as I push my claw out. I pull my hands out of its back, pushing to jump off. I drag my foot for as long and deep while I can as I twist in the air. My claw slices cleanly before it cuts through and I land on the ground, landing on my knee and stabilizing my landing with my forearm.

I see the bear land back on all fours but it doesn't turn toward me. It just roars wildly now and steps forward, toward the little girl. It doesn't turn to me, as I expected.

Growling, I move forward and roll underneath the bear's abdomen to speed up the process without circling around, which would take too long. I land in front of the little girl as she stumbles and the bear sees me, still twitching and drooling. The drool turns more into foam now.

I'm crouched low, my arms spread wide with my claws dripping with its blood, both my foot claws out and breathing heavily. The bear groans, grunting every other second and it charges weakly.

I slash at it with a cry, cutting deep into it's nose and mouth.

The bear cries in pain as blood bursts from its face and growls while swiping at me and backing up. I'm tempted to move with it but I glance at the little girl behind me, unsure if I should stray too far from her. It then stands on its hind legs. I grimace. I can't reach it's neck easily like this. If I jump, I can. It is, however, a risky move.

The bear charges, mouth open and arms swinging to hit me.

I move forward, digging my claws into its stomach and blood gushes out, soaking my torso. I prepare to jab it straight in the neck before a heavy object of pure, furry muscle hits the side of my head, forcing my head to snap back. I feel something hard scrape against my shoulder, neck and scalp, scratching the metal of my skull. The sound of tearing cloth and skin ripping reaches my ears and the smell of blood gets my heart pumping faster.

I growl, turning back at the offending paw that's following through with its hit and I grab it, holding it in place as the bear yowls in pain. I bring my hand down on the wrist, slicing through smoothly and I bring both hands back, one with a massive, furry pound of flesh. I drop it as I step back, glancing back at the child.

She crawls backwards, her shocked eyes unable to look away from this trauma. I notice a dark red line cut across her cheek, small rivulets of blood seeping out. A large, bloody scrape sits at the center of an amassing red bruise on her forehead, close to her hairline. I turn back to the fight, heart pounding and breath labored, the ander and blood in the air urging me on.

The bear backs off, stepping back on its hind legs and it lands back on all fours-well technically three-, weak but determined. I touch my scalp, right where the three long scratches are and I feel them closing up already. I bring my hands back out and I prepare to fight when I hear a roar. The bear is on all its hind legs, towering over us and its mouth open wide, showing its glistening teeth as its roar grows in ferocity and dominance. It thunders through the clearing and shocks me in my place as I stare at it, eyes wide and mouth parted. I stand there for a moment, staring at it with the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The drawn out roar makes my heart race and I bristle up, a burning in my chest growing in intensity as I grit my teeth, baring them and feeling an urge that I was taught to keep locked up.

I feel the growl building up and I take a deep breath, baring my teeth. I scream, the sound coming from deep in my chest and coming out more like a wild roar than anything. I watch the bear drop back on its front paws. Well. It's only front paw left. I run out of breath and I stand there, arms wide and ready to fight, panting as the bear watches me, twitching and drooling.

It takes a step back, it's bloody stump tucked close to its body as it turns, wobbling off and wheezing with every step. I straighten up, relaxing my tense stance as I release my fists from their tight clench. I feel the circulation return to the tips of my fingers, my hand curled so tightly that the blood had a hard time flowing through.

Watching the large creature sway from side to side as he walks away, it brings a pressure to my chest and I feel the ends of my mouth tug down into a frown. I watch as it finally sways too far to the right and finally collapses. It lets out a pained roar that ends in a whimper. I stare at the form, expecting to hear his heavy breathing slow until it just stops but I frown when it doesn't even grow softer.

Walking forward, I circle its body, walking forward until I'm standing in front of its face. Its cheek is rested against the ground, its arm outstretched in front of it and its stump arm is tucked into its chest. I see the foam crusting around its mouth, soaking its matted fur. I frown when I see its chest heaving. I kneel down and my frown deepens when I notice that it doesn't react to my proximity. Is it even lucid?

I stay tense as I assess its injuries. Its arm is gone, the limb ending before its elbow but after its shoulder. Its stomach has gashes, deep ones due to the nature of my claws, and there's also a matching set on its face. I frown. It will bleed out; death is guaranteed. It's rabid as well, so its death will be more beneficial than anything else. I prepare to stand but I don't. Staring at its eyes, I see that they're bloodshot but watery. It almost looks like it's crying. I stare at it, thinking of its pain. I remember being given various poisons, the strong ones in particular. The ones meant for torture that kill you eventually. My body burned it off eventually, but the symptoms don't go away if the effects are instant and the drug is potent. I remember one drug that made my head feel like it would split in two while making my thoughts run rampant, bringing me dangerously close to recalling life events but pulling them just out of reach and warping my vision. Another made me paranoid and my sensory processing distorted for five minutes and I killed every handler that was watching me that day. Only reason I didn't escape that day was because of the room I was in; it was reinforced with a thin layer of adamantium. Another was just an incredibly concentrated kill poison and I was on the ground for hours, lying on my side vomiting and crying as every part of my body felt the burning of the poison in my bloodstream.

I passed out with all of those poisons. I did not die, but the pain was still there. I wished for death all of those times.

Staring at the bear, I feel an ache in my chest and a strange sense of sympathy. I don't know what it's like to die, but I know what it feels like to die slowly, in a way.

Kneeling over the bear, I take a breath, raising my hand and clenching it in a final decision. I poise it over its head, staring at its face for a moment. It makes no reaction to indicate it's noticed my actions.

I bring my claws down on the side of its head, making sure to strike right through its skull and keeping it there as its breath hitches and then releases it, its body relaxing further. I retrieve my fist from its head as I kneel back, watching its body as it begins to shut down further and seeing the blood gush less profusely and its eyes dilate.

I hear a sniffle behind me and I tense up again. There is a child behind me.

I turn slowly, forcing myself to relax and control my breathing. My eyes find her on the ground, curled up and covering her face. I purse my lips apprehensively as I take a step forward. Just a step.

She lowers her arms cautiously at the silence as her breathing stabilizes more from her sobbing. Her eyes are half lidded and wet with tears and her small form trembles and she sits up to look up at me with a parted mouth and uneven breathing.

I check her form as she stares up at me. Besides the scrape and cuts on her face, she doesn't seem severely injured. Just scared and in shock. I frown when I see her look up at me. Her eyes break the eye contact we shared and she stares at my chest. Her face grows darker and she averts her eyes quickly. I look down and I realize that my torn bra was sliced thoroughly through, hanging on by the ripped strap of my left shoulder and exposing nearly my entire chest. I purse my lips as I raise my hands to try to cover my breasts and I realize my claws are still out. I retract the claws of my fists and pick up the tattered cloth of my bra, grabbing both ends and trying to get the most parts that are left to at least be able to be tied together over my breasts. I grimace, glancing at the girl to see her attention on my feet. I glance down and see what's captured her attention. I feel my heart skip a beat at the sight of the claws protruding from the skin between my second and third toe. I retract them quickly, noticing her face react in further confusion and she glances back up at me again. Avoiding eye contact, I look around for any further dangers.

The girl moves to her feet slowly. My gaze turns to her as I still struggle with tying the ends of my bra together. She's unsteady as she stands, balancing herself as she stares at me and then the figure of the bear.

She hugs herself as she looks back at me, her eyes glancing away every other moment, her eyes still pooling with tears. Looking back at the bloody trail leading to the slumped form of the deceased bear, I grimace. I can't find it in me to feel victorious over its defeat. It's strange how I feel much more guilt over the death of an animal that tried to kill me than I do for slaughtering all those people during my escape.

A sob breaks the silence and I have to keep myself from shoving her delicate body away when she throws herself at me, her skinny arms trapping me in their small confines as she sobs into my stomach, her tears moistening the skin there and coating her somewhat clean face with the blood of the bear.

I gasp, my mouth dropping as I stare at her as more sobs leave the little girl.

This feels...familiar. I can't explain why. I suppose this has happened to me before, though I doubt it happened in Hydra's compound.

I think back to my newest memory. The one that spurred the desperate need to save this child. I frown, remembering the fear and the shock afterwards, despite not having seen it when the memory first surfaced, giving me the painful ache. I remember my mother cradling me in her arms and placing me on the soft, brown upholstery of the couch. I remember her handing me saltine crackers and then proceeded to shout a colorful set of words to the neighbor whose dog it belonged to. I nibbled on the crackers numbly, tears streaming down my face as I stared at the one bite mark on my ankle, my child fear making it feel like a thousand. I wonder if this little girl will later remember this as the bear tearing half of her face off.

Thinking back to the cracker bit, I look at the little girl as she still clutches onto me, her sobs growing softer in intensity and becoming close to being sniffles.

I reach into my pocket slowly, knowing that I have half of a dried sliver of cat meat left. Maybe food will help her like it sort of helped me.

I stare down at the girl whose face is still pressed into my stomach. Her arms are still wrapped around me. I purse my lips, unsure of how to present the food to her. I swallow nervously as I just slowly press it into the side of her cheek, right where she smushed her face into my stomach. Her sniffling softens just a tad and she turns to head to the piece of jerky with a hum of confusion, still not lifting it.

She peeks at the piece of meat that I hold in front of her now, no longer poking her face with it. She looks at it for a moment and her sniffling returns before one of her arms loosens around my waist hesitantly. She still clutches to me tightly and her face is still pressed into my stomach but she reaches for the dried meat, holding it with her small fingers and bringing it closer to her face as she sucks in a breath from her dying sniffles. She sniffs it and then licks it. She seems to shrug before nibbling on it gently. I watch in interest and uncertainty as she continues nibbling, tears still streaming down her face but at a much slower rate.

Unsure of what to do, I look around the area, wondering where she came from. A small shout in the distance snaps my head to the west where I notice a light in the far distance. A bright white one that moves around. The small cry calls out once more, this time shouting the more decipherable word "Lila!" The call accompanies one of the frantic movements of light. "Lila! Mommy's over here!"

I prepare to back up away from the girl and let her find her mother by herself before I look back down at her.

She continues to nibble on the meat but her body is trembling. I could see her eyes open wide but they are unseeing. Strangely enough, something is telling me that lifting her is something that I should be doing. I just have a feeling that the little girl would not be able to functionally walk right now. I look toward the light, frowning at the sound of panic in the mother's voice. The mother seems to be maybe a mile away. I could maybe deliver her myself and ask for help after assuring the safety of the little girl. Slowly, I bring my hand to reach underneath her arms, pocketing her armpits in the palm of my hands and lifting the weightless child before my arms naturally bring her to rest her head on my shoulder and support her by wrapping one arm underneath her form, holding her up. My other hand rubs soothing circles on her back and I frown, looking at the girl as she wraps one arm around my neck tightly, her tears now wetting my shoulder as she continues to eat the meat I gave her. Her breathing calmed but she's still shivering.

I purse my lips, realizing that she's cold. I look back to the light as another desperate cry echoes through the woods. I begin walking to the person, making sure not to thrash the girl too much as I travel the uneven ground. I hold a steady pace as I make my way toward the distressed mother, the flashlight waving around more in the distance. " _Lila!_ "

Chewing on my lip as I listen to the little girl, Lila, sniffle into the dried meat that I gave her, I begin to wonder what kind of sight we look like.

A well groomed little girl, wearing pink pajamas with fuzzy white slippers in the clutches of a topless, dirty murderer covered in blood. I listen to the girl for a moment. She's still awake and eating the meat.

I grow close enough to see the mother. She's turned the other way right now, her focus on the woods to the right of us. She could potentially just pass us by right now.

I grit my teeth, increasing the pace of my steps. My feet hit the soil heavily, each step bearing the weight of my body as well as the girl. I swallow and suddenly realize that my throat is dry. I haven't spoken-never really had a _reason_ to speak-in close to four weeks. Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth as I try to make as much noise as possible with my feet, stomping as solidly as I can with each step.

"Hey!"

The voice I hear I don't recognize. My voice is still deep but I've never heard it so hoarse and, for lack of a better word, dry. I'm startled by the difference between the voice I have and the voice I had in my fragmented, torn memories.

The light immediately turns to us, obscuring the silhouette of the woman that I saw when she turned it elsewhere. My eyes sting at the brightness of it and I turn my head away, closing them.

"What?" The stinging in my eyes lessens as the brightness becomes somewhat more bearable from underneath my eyelids. I open them hesitantly. "Who are you? Why are you…"

I hear a sharp intake of breath as I slowly open them. The light is still hitting us, but it doesn't hurt my eyes as much as before.

I see the source of the light grow close and the rustling of foliage. I feel my hairs stand and the urge to dash away gets me to clutch to the little girl a little tighter. A thousand times over, noises like that have proven themselves to be harbingers of trouble, but I force myself to stay put. I know that this is the girl's mother. I'm sure that, for the most part, she's not dangerous.

"Honey, oh my God! What are you doing out here? You should know to not go out this far!" a mother's teary but scornful voice sobs.

She lowers the flashlight so its glare doesn't blind me and she reaches for the girl, Lila. I reluctantly loosen my grip as the mother reaches her, helping the mother support the weight of the girl. The mother flawlessly transfers her daughter from my arms into hers, tears glistening on her cheeks as she drops the flashlight to the ground. I watch as it falls, the light spinning in a full circle before landing to face me. It illuminates the pale but dirty skin of my feet, glistening on some of the fresh blood that splattered on my legs and the space between my third and fourth toe.

It's then that I hear the renewed sobs of Lila.

"Mommy!" she cries, her sobs going on for long intervals.

"Oh my God! Sweetie! I'm so glad you're okay!" I hear the wet tears in the mother's voice as she struggles not to break down crying. "I just heard the roaring and your screams and...and…"

I look back up at the mother and notice her pulled away from her embrace of Lila, cupping her cheek and trying to get her to respond. Lila responds by burying her face into her mother's chest and she cradles the back of Lila's head, deciding to simply relish in the presence of her daughter. Her voice is as panicked as you would expect a mother to be. Then her gaze turns to me and I see burning suspicion fill her eyes.

"Who are you?! Wha-what happened?!" She backs up from me, her gaze scanning my figure and widening in a mix of shock and horror.

I take a step back, my heart beating faster. She thinks I did something to her. I suppose that having her daughter delivered traumatized and in shock by a half nude woman covered in blood might have something to do with that.

I shake my head, opening my mouth and trying to conjure a word to assure her that I didn't do anything. "No. I…"

The mother steps back, her flashlight pointed to the side as she struggles to hold her daughter and the flashlight at the same time. Her eyes are one my clothes, noticing the tattered, shredded quality. "What happened?"

I struggle to find the words to tell the angered and worried mother. "It-uh...it was...bear. A bear."

The woman's expression turns from one of suspicion and mild terror to utter confusion and disbelief. "Bears don't usually come around these woods," she breathes.

I feel a pit grow in my stomach. I bite my lip. The bear was rabid. That could explain why it was here if they don't usually come around here. But that wouldn't hold up with a skeptical mother looking to protect her child.

"It was rabid," I try weakly. "I…"

I see the woman keep stepping back and then wonder why I'm still here. The child is with her mother. I could always find someone else to help me. This woman seems like helping me is the last thing on her mind. I take another step back, ready to flee. I shouldn't bother this family.

"I'm sorry," I mutter before turning.

I take half a step before a soft voice reaches my ears. "Where's the bear?"

I stiffen, my heart picking up speed before turning with a small amount of hope, something that feels familiar but has been a stranger to me for a long time.

I look at the woman, my mouth parted in anticipation as I send her a hopeful but questioning glance. "What?"

Her eyes are focused on my body, which is thin and covered in blood. I could see her reluctant pity in her gaze and smell her doubt. She doesn't know whether to believe me or not. I take a moment to take her in. She has honey brown hair and is dressed in jeans and a purple sweater. I frown at the feeling that there's something odd about her.

"The bear...is it dead?" she asks.

I glance back the way I came and look back at the mother. I nod. She grimaces and takes a deep breath, eyes still suspicious. She then scans my figure once again, her expression calculating and relaxing as if she decided something. Her frown still marrs her mouth as she sighs. She turns to the side, looking like she's ready to leave. "I'll have my husband check it later...you need to get cleaned up…"

Her eyes look to me expectantly. Is she inviting me to her home? I frown, looking directly into her eyes in question. Just like that? She's inviting me to her home? Immediately, my suspicions raise. Why would she invite me? This hardly seems like an appropriate thing to do for a homeless woman you just meet in the woods.

Albeit, I am a homeless woman who fought off a bear that would have certainly taken her daughter's life, but just what kind of a woman am I to be able to do that? I look at the ground in uncertainty. I know exactly what kind of woman I am and the danger that I pose to people. I look back up at her.

I swallow thickly, opening my mouth to respond.

"You need fresh clothes. And to get rid of that blood," the mother continues, her face obviously uncomfortable by my lack of response. She slowly lowers Lila to stand on her feet before reaching for her hips. I stiffen, thinking of the countless times that I've seen guards reach for guns at their belt. I don't spring away, though, because I instead see her pull on the hem of her sweater, removing it to reveal a white shirt underneath the purple sweater. She peels it off and approaches me slowly, her hand clutching the sweater in a bundle. She stops within arms length of me and I stare at her in trepidation. She holds out the sweater and gestures to it with the tip of her head. I reach for it tentatively, grabbing it with my fingers and I see the mother eye my fists and their bloody condition. I quickly pull my hands back with the sweater in them and I pull it on over my head. "Are you lost? You look like you haven't been...home for a while."

I look at her and then down to myself and I suddenly realize just how much dirt coats my skin. It's darker and I could see obvious crud and smears. I look at my hands. Coated in blood, in between the crevices of my fingernails and the wrinkles of my knuckles. I purse my lips at the sight before looking back up. I suppose that I could use a shower, no matter how suspicious this new offer is.

Looking at the mother, I feel a strange familiarity in my gut when I see her face. Something inside me tells me that she's trustworthy.

I nod. "I am. I need…"

What do I need? I think back to the obvious answer. I need to get back home. Get back to my sister, my family. But just how do I do that? I don't know why but a deep seeded feeling in the back of my mind tells me that it isn't as easy as searching in the phonebook.

I frown. How do I know what a phonebook is?

"It's okay," the mother says, recapturing my attention. I look at her and I see a polite smile as she goes to pick Lila up once more, the little girl's arms reaching to wrap around her mother's neck. "We'll help you."

It's silent for a moment before she speaks again. "What's your name?"

The question catches me off guard. I frown, trying to remember the last time someone actually asked for my name. I try to remember it. What mostly calls out to me is Weapon X, my assigned designation. It's the closest thing I can think of when they ask for my name.

Wait no. My mother called me something. Something odd. It seems like just a word but it made me know that she was talking to _me_. Roberta.

My head throbs as a sudden wave of pain rocks back and forth through it as a voice forces itself into my mind. A masculine voice. I know for sure that it's not mine, my voice is not that deep. Who is that?

 _Your name is Roberta Lopez!_

I take a step back, holding my head a I hiss through my teeth gritting my teeth to keep from crying out at the pain. I open my eyes with a frown, eyes boring into the ground as it runs through my mind at a much gentler pace.

 _Your name is Roberta Lopez. Your name is Roberta Lopez. Your name is Roberta Lopez._

I take a deep breath, strangely calm. That must be my full name.

"Roberta," I answer simply.

"Well, hello Roberta. My name is Laura," she responds, her expression uncertain, obviously not sure whether she's doing the right thing.

Laura...Laura's nice. I save her name in the recesses of my mind, knowing that there'd e nothing to rip this memory away.

She looks at me for a moment, still hesitant but she nods and looks down at Lila, taking her hand with a smile. "I'm so glad you're safe," she tells her with a whisper.

She looks at me and gestures for me to go with her. I hesitate before stepping forward, pursing my lips and following after them as Laura turns around and starts walking.

"Come with us. Our house is this way," she tells me. "You can use our house phone and...maybe wash up if you'd like."

I tug the ends of the sleeves over my hands, feeling the soft material underneath my fingertips and crossing my arms, hugging myself. I've never felt something this soft. I follow just beside them, slightly put off with how easily she's decided to help me but I don't argue against it. I'm just glad that she's decided to help me. I walk beside them with a smile threatening to dance on my lips, my mouth not used to such a thing.

My bare feet come across a sharp object and I grit my teeth, struggling not to make a noise as I lift my foot. I step again, nearly cursing when I feel it still there as I put my weight on the foot to step forward.

It stuck into my foot. I grit my teeth as more tingles of pain spread through the sole of my foot as I came to that realization. I feel the sharp stone embedded in my foot now.

I stop for a moment, lifting my trembling foot as I feel the sting and pain of the rock protruding from it. I look at the continuing mother and daughter as I reach down to pull the rock out.

I try to be quick, grabbing the base of it as I gently tug on it. My wound screams at the contact and I audibly hiss. I see Laura visibly pause and turn to face where I would be had I not stopped to pull the rock out.

I see her turn around and continue her search in surprise when she doesn't find me at first. "Roberta?" Laura calls out as her flashlight falls upon me.

"Are you okay?" she asks as I fall into step with her.

I grimace, having trouble acknowledging her as I grip the base of the rock and yanking it. The brightness of the flashlight reflects off the blood that coats my palm and I hear Laura gasp as she rushes forward.

"Shit! I forgot about these," she hisses while she places her flashlight in the crook of her neck to have it pointed at me as she takes the stone from my hand. I look at it curiously, noticing it's very odd, triangular shape. "My husband and I set up some spikes so that some animals could be turned around. Keep 'em from getting to our farm, y'know." I struggle not to groan, looking at the ground surrounding us in concern. "They shouldn't be able to penetrate boots but seeing as you don't have any…"

She throws the little spike over behind me with a _tsk_ and she holds out her hand, kneeling to the ground, letting Lila stand on her own. I frown when I see her eyes set determinately on my foot, which I still have in my grip. The tissues are still forming over it.

"Let me see it," she says gently as she moves to kneel in front of my foot, getting a good view of the pierced flesh. I feel my body shiver and goosebumps raise at the thought of her seeing my healing ability. It's not a common thing to have. I was taken solely because of my ability to heal. But, as I see Laura's eyes already widening, I know that it's already too late for simply hiding the healing wound.

I rip my foot out of her grasp, stepping on the ground as the surface tissue regrows. I see Laura look up at me, her expression amazed but confused. Her mouth is parted and she quickly shuts it, standing while bringing Lila back into her arms.

My heart races at the thought of what she would do. She could easily turn me in, call the authorities or something. I'm not sure what but something tells me that her knowing will not serve me any favors.

Laura surprises me when she simply turns around and continues walking. "Come on. My kids are home alone and my husband isn't home yet, as far as I know."

I frown at her reaction, my suspicions only growing more.

We continue on until I see a warm, yellow glow appear in the distance as the forest starts to thin. The light of the flashlight Laura has illuminates a house dimly, a house just beyond the forest treeline. I struggle to withhold a smile. A house. An actual, beautiful house with a _family_ and _good_ people inside. Not people that like to open me up and test whether or not my body will reject having a claw be moved from one part of my body to another.

"Come on," she tells me as she steps ahead, gesturing for me to follow with a sleeping Lila in her arms. "We should have some leftover pot roast you could eat and some warm water for a shower."

I look at her, confused. "Pot roast?"

She doesn't bother turning. She just nods and I shake my head, stepping forward. "I made some today and we didn't eat all of it. Then again, we are waiting on my husband to come back with our dog. He ran off and we've been looking for him all day."

I frown. Whatever this pot roast is, I guess it's food. Looking at Laura, I think about spending the night but shake my head. I should probably try to make this arrangement last no longer than one day. Looking at the family, I grimace at the thought of any harm coming to them because I wasn't careful.

I nod. I should probably leave during the night.

Laura leads me to the front door and she reaches for it, her hand hovering over the handle before glancing at me by the side of her eye. "I'll have you know, I'm being hospitable. But if you try anything I see as a danger to my children, you're out."

I look at her and nod, completely understanding. This does a slight bit to taper down my suspicion, but it's still sharply pointed toward her. "Understood."

She twists the knob and opens the door. She swings it open slowly and steps in, Lila breathing evenly in her arms, asleep. "I'm home," she calls out gently, just to not wake up Lila.

"Mom!" a small voice shouts, making me jump visibly. A pitter patter of steps alerts me to a child running this way. Laura is quick to shush him as he rounds the doorway, making his way toward us in the hall of the entrance. He reacts immediately to his mother's demand as his eyes land on a sleeping Lila. He nods before his eyes find me and he stiffens up, eyes widening as he takes in my appearance. He glances at his mom as he steps back cautiously. "Mom...who's that?"

Fear taints his voice and I feel guilt jolt through my being. I'm scaring this little boy.

Laura turns to me and then the little boy. She looks at him. "This is Roberta. She's going to be here a while so that she can get help," she explains simply, gesturing to me. She looks at me and gestures to Cooper. "This is Cooper. He is my son." She introduces. I look at him and struggle to think of something to say. Something I see the scientists do a lot is shake hands. I bite my lip, reaching out a hand and releasing it from being tucked inside the sleeves. I see his mom stiffen as I reach for him and he takes a step back and grimace at the sight of my hand. My hand, dirty and covered in dried blood, hangs there in the air, hoping I could greet him properly. I look back at my hand, noticing that the fresher blood from my foot glistens on it. I retract it awkwardly while swallowing uncomfortably, pursing my mouth.

I see Laura move to the living room and check on something inside a bassinet. She seems relieved and then moves to a couch. She gently lowers Lila without waking her, lying her back on the couch in the room.

She turns to me, struggling to find words before looking at the stairs. "Come upstairs with me. Cooper," she turns to look at Cooper. Staring hard at him with raised brows. "Stay down here. Watch Nathaniel and Lila."

Cooper nods and Laura gestures for the to step ahead of her into the stairs. I hesitate, thinking about her stepping behind me. I think back to the sensation of someone stepping behind me, the barrel of a gun pressed into my waist. I shake the sensation away, chills riding up my spine. I begin my ascent up the stairs with Laura trailing behind me. It's unsettling, still, knowing that she's trained in combat. Once we reach the top, she goes to a door just a few doors ahead of the stairs and opens it. Inside is a white tile floor with green walls and a sink. I assume that parallel to the sink there is a toilet and further ahead there is a shower.

"This is our bathroom," she says. "You could wash up while I heat up the pot roast. I'll leave you some of my clothes to wear."

I nod, cautiously stepping into the room anxiously. My bare feet meet the cold tile and I step further in, noticing that while I can see everything, it is still dark. I turn around and see Laura looking at me and nodding, reaching in a flipping the light switch to fill the room with light. I mutter a thank you while closing the door and turn to look at the shower. It's a bathtub with the spout six feet high in the wall. I walk over to it, trying to remember the last time I took a shower. It was so long ago.

I reach for the handles, twisting them and adjusting the temperature to something that feels comfortable. I frown. Something that feels comfortable. That's a luxury I'm not sure I've had.

I remove the sweater given to me, holding it in my hands as the air meets the dirty, bare flesh of my torso and chest. The knot I made had come undone, exposing my breasts anyway. I pluck off what's left of my bra and peel off my pants, the material stiff with dried blood and sweat, torn and stretched out.

I step into the shower, feeling the lukewarm water rain down on my back. I look down as the water soaks my hair and scalp, watching the water run down the drain begin to go red, brown and dirty. I stand there for a bit, relishing in the sensation of water running over my body. The water is so warm and soothing. I massage my arms and hug myself, feeling the water grow warmer. I furrow my brows. Now it's getting hot. I didn't set it to be this hot.

I suddenly feel it boiling against my skin and a familiar burn in my bones makes me stumble back.

"No!"

My back hits the tile wall and my calves press against the edge of the tub. I close my eyes tightly, the burning growing worse as I start to tear up, breathing heavily. How is it getting me here? This can't be happening!

"Hey! Hey! Are you okay?"

I press myself against the wall, hands stretched out against the wall, reaching blindly for something, anything, until my right hand finds a fabric to hang onto as the sensation of water filling my lungs makes me cry out in agony. I start to gag.

No. No…

"Roberta! Stop!"

The curtain is drawn back and I see the opening to get out. I scramble with a high pitched whine, avoiding the water as best as I could and I trip over the edge of the tub, my shoulder colliding hard with the tile floor. The burning and the cold clash and I bundle up, sobbing on the ground as the burning refuses to recede.

"No! No! Stop!"

I feel hands touch my shoulder. My blood runs cold within my hot veins, the thought of a scientist having their hands on me to throw me back in like the many times they've done before. I cry out, my fists snapping into a defensive position as I look up at the person who grabbed me. Their hands draw back. Through the blurriness, I see Laura's brunette head and pale face. "Roberta! What's wrong?"

I grab her arms tightly and pull myself to her feeling the burning begin to ebb away.

I press my face into her shirt, not caring about what kind of questions or fears she may have right now. Human contact is something I haven't had in so long… I forgot how comforting it was.

I feel her arms rest around my back and hold me softly, one gently rubbing a circle in the center of my bare back. Her touch makes me cry even more. I'm brought back to my memory, burrowing into my mother's touch after the dog attacked me, hugging me with her arms and rubbing soothing circles on my arms. Instead, though, I am in her arms a few moments after, on the couch as I nibble on dry crackers. I struggle not to smile. That memory didn't hurt so much…

I tremble as the burning leaves and I feel like I could breathe again.

"Roberta, what happened?" Laura's voice asks as my breathing evens out.

I shake my head, pulling away as I stare at the still running water. I point to it. "It started getting hot...it was happening all over again…"

Laura frowns, looking at me and then standing, keeping her hands on my shoulders to comfort me before letting go and moving to the shower, putting her hand underneath the rain. I wince, thinking back to the burning. I look at the mirror in the room and see that it's not even fogged up. It can't be that hot if the mirror's not even fogged.

I sit on the tile floor, huddled up as I realize that the burning in my bones is gone. I frown. What was that? Was it all just make believe?

"It's not that hot, Roberta," she tells me cautiously after running her hand underneath the water.

I nod, shaking my head. "Yeah...I got that." I move to my feet. I cross my arms over my chest and curl in on myself to try to save my modesty. You would think that being naked and undressed all those times in the labs and a few minutes ago would have me adjusted to being exposed in front of people, but I just feel more vulnerable than I ever have before.

"Roberta...what happened to you?" She asks cautiously, her suspicion momentarily forgotten I suppose.

Visions of the months spent at Essex and Hydra makes me wince and I shut my eyes tightly. I shake my head.

"I...I'm gonna finish my shower now," I croak.

She kneels down to me. "Roberta, I need to know if you are alright."

I nod, looking up to see her face and I look her straight in the eye. "Yes," I answer, making sure that my raspy voice is full of determination. "I am fine."

Laura's back straightens and I could see the suspicion return to her gaze. She nods stiffly before leaving. "The pot roast will be ready when you come downstairs." She stands and opens the door, ready to step out. "And here is a pair of pajamas I have for you. Something to replace your old clothes."

I nod, not turning to her. I turn my head to one side slightly, opening my mouth say 'thank you' but the door is closed before I can utter a word.

I stand slowly, moving back to the running water and I place my hand underneath it. I check the temperature.

It's barely lukewarm.

I am quick to finish my shower, scraping off every bloodstain and washing out every clump of dirt and blood from my hair. I step out, reaching for a towel when I am done. I dry myself off and slide on the pants that Laura gave me, eyes drawn to my left hip. I frown, ignoring the pit in my stomach and putting on the shirt. My eyes are drawn to the bare flesh of my forearm and I feel a disturbed feeling in my gut. I wonder what those tattoos meant to me.

I think back to the detail of them, the never-ending curves of the celtic knot and the birdcage at my hip and the skull on my shoulder and my sister's birthday on my wrist. All so beautiful.

All gone.

I struggle to keep myself from falling to the floor in a fit of sobs and cries. A smell, however, deters me from doing such a thing.

It smells amazing and rich. My mouth waters at the mere scent.

I reach for the handle of the door, hand trembling just slightly. I have never smelled something so good. What would I be fed back in my cell? Soup? Rice and a sandwich?

I inhale once more, salivating at the rich scent. This isn't a sandwich.

I twist the doorknob and push the door open slowly.

The hall us lit in a warm glow. The floor is wooden and the walls are yellow. A small cabinet sits against the wall opposite to the stairs with picture frames sitting atop and along the walls. I ignore the images, my eyes drawn to the stairs leading downstairs.

The scent of something that makes my mouth salivate wafts from the path the steps lead. I reach them, my toes meeting the cool and smooth wood of the floor with each step. I frown, that scent smelling somewhat familiar. It has something similar to the smell of the cooking areas of the Essex building.

I reach the stairs and hesitate for a moment, my foot hovering over the step before tracking back up. Am I allowed to go downstairs by myself? Would Laura get mad?

I shake my head. No. That's not how the world works. That's how Hydra works but not the world...people don't normally get mad if you go down a set of stairs without permission. At least that's what my unreliable memories tell me. I steel myself and gingerly step on the step in front of me on the stairs and follow the path down quietly, my hand gripping the rail as I follow the scent. It's so thick and almost palpable. I could almost taste it.

I reach the bottom of the stairs, head raised and peering around curiously. I follow the smell past the living room, glancing briefly at the child huddled in front of his sister and a hand clutching onto the bar of the bassinet next to him. It'd be a lie if I said that the utter fear in the boy's face made my gut twist uncomfortably. Cutting through the living room entrance straight to the kitchen entrance, I see a large pot sitting on a metal support, lid held in the mother's hand as steam rises from its contents. The smell is stronger than ever and I step forward in curiosity with a growling stomach, eyes focused on the pot. I move closer, looking over the rim of the pot and inside is shredded up meat with potatoes and carrots. It's soaked and marinated in a thick, brown juice. It reminds me of the soup that they would switch out my sandwich with at Essex, the hunks of hastily chopped potato and vegetables with cubes of meat submerged inside a somewhat transparent, salty liquid. It was by far the best tasting thing they would give me in my cell.

My mouth parts as I take in the smell once more, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with how intense the flavor is to create such an aroma. I'm pretty sure that this tastes good, too.

"Roberta?"

My head snaps up and I see Laura with her face twisted in a confused and cautious frown, eyeing me up and down. I suppose that with my behavior from half an hour ago, this reaction is warranted. Her eyes linger on the ends of my hair as it soaks the shoulders of the shirt she's loaned me. She presses her lips together. "How much do you want?"

She lifts a plate that was set beside the pot and sets down the ceramic lid of the pot to grab a pair of tongs. I wince, remembering the similar tool they've used on me before in the labs to collect samples and pull apart sensitive ligaments. I instead focus on her, shaking those haunting memories away. Her expression and tone...she seems surprisingly cordial. She notices my stiff posture, standing before the table. She decides to take initiative, reaching into the pot with the tongs and selecting a few slivers of meat and vegetables while glancing around the table and then something in front of me. She's so focused on her task and she looks nowhere near planning to ask me to explain myself or ask why I panicked like I did.

"You can have a seat, you know?"

I blink, following her gaze to notice that there is wooden chairs lining the edge of the table top. More than one person eats at this table at a time. I look up at her for a second, gesturing to the chair while my heart picks up in speed. She nods. I swallow. So I'm guessing we're just going to pretend that what happened in the bathroom did not, in fact, happen.

I hesitantly reach out, wrapping my fingers around the rim of the chair's back and pulling it out, causing the legs to scrape against the floor. I bite my lip as I move beside it, checking the seat to see if there's anything dangerous on it-not due to any paranoia, but because I've sat on a chair with a needle on it when a doctor was drawing my blood for testing. I take a seat, head looking down at the table top as the mother stands above me. I feel the same sensation I have when I'm in the lab, the sensation of being inferior due to what I am.

I glance up nervously, heat building up in my face at the thought of Laura having seen me naked and in such a frightened state. She is staring at me with inquisitive eyes, her brown orbs observing and calculating. I swallow nervously, staring at the plate in her hands. Perhaps she is going to question me and my actions.

She seems to realize that I'm staring up at her because she shakes her head, finally making eye contact rather than just staring at my whole being. She sets the plate down in front of me and I look down at the food. There's onion, potato and carrots on one side of the plate with the chunks of shredded meat on the other, all soaked thoroughly with the sauce it was submerged in.

I see that beside plate there is a spoon but besides the spoon there's something of the same fashion, but instead of the rounded top of the spoon, there's spikes. Three spikes.

I wince as memories of three spikes jutting through my knuckles and the name of this utensil force its way into my mind. I hold in the gasp and force my breathing to become steady.

Fork. I know what a fork is. Who knew that looking at one would trigger a memory?

I pick it up, guessing that it would be better to eat this with said utensil than the spoon and I gingerly sink the points into the soft texture of the potato. I've had potato before, I know what it tastes like. I bring it to my mouth, sniffing it and doubting that this would taste the same as the broth with vegetable and meat chunks that they fed me at the labs. Closing my mouth around it and chewing it cautiously, my eyes widen at the sudden rich flavor.

No. This is not like the soup.

I don't waste time spearing another potato and shoving it into my mouth as soon as I swallow the last of the potato. The sauce isn't like the liquid in the labs. What did the mother do to make this food? Did she drug it? Add some chemicals to make the flavors more intense?

I shovel carrots and onions in my mouth, chewing it quickly and downing it quicker. I curiously place a string of meat in my mouth, tasting it and finding that it tastes just as good. I'm picking up more potato and carrot with the fork and chewing some meat in my mouth when I hear the click of the door at the front open. I freeze, hairs on the back of my neck standing.

Who's that?

Thoughts of Essex guards raiding this home fills my mind, making my heart race and my temples sweat in horror and fear.

I look up, chewing through the last of my food slower than I was in my starved frenzy and notice that Laura is gone. I drop my fork, spitting out my food and jumping to my feet, spinning around in search of her.

"She's right over there," I hear her say from behind.

As soon as I turn, I see a her standing at the entrance of the living room from the front door, her back turned to me but talking to someone. I see a looming figure standing in front of her and I feel my hands twitch, my claws preparing to unsheath at the sight of the dark figure. It could easily be an Essex agent. He could kill her. Kill the children. And then take me back. I step back at the thought, thinking about sprinting through whatever exit I can find.

I see Laura then turn and her eyes move to find me in my seat but widen at the sight of me standing, breathing heavily.

The man is then revealed to me and he's a well built man, strong, muscular. He holds himself loosely but I can see from scars and from the smell of gunpowder on him that he is no stranger to fighting, perhaps even to death. I feel a shiver go up my spine at the instant recognition.

Clint Barton. Retired Avenger Clint Barton.

I wince as more memories flood my mind as images of not only him but others as well, Avengers, stand in this living room, shocked and jaded. Clint shooting arrows at sentient androids and shooting down aliens from the sky. Clint embracing his children and his wife after arriving home from a battle.

I struggle not to stumble back as I take a very deep breath at the influx of information. How do I...was I there? How did I see all that I saw? Did I know Clint? I look at Laura and Clint standing together, an unfamiliar pair that my mind seems to have decided it knew.

"This her?" He asks, gesturing to me weakly. Laura nods, her eyes glancing to him for a moment before looking back at me. Her expression is cautious and she raises a steady hand. I wait with bated breath, frozen in shock at the memories I just gained.

What do I do? What do I do with this information? Is it real? Did I really live that? A better question is are they reliable? Are these memories trustworthy? Suddenly gaining them at the sight of the retired Avenger makes sense if they are about him. But what are the chances that I conveniently stumble upon his safehouse immediately after escaping my prison unless it was all orchestrated? This feels too coincidental.

"It's okay Roberta. This is my husband, Clint," she introduces gently, gesturing to the man. I straighten up, relaxing some degree but narrowing my eyes.

I nod slowly, taking in the information and tearing my eyes away from them to the kids. I need to...I need to think.

Cooper grips the fabric of the couch with white knuckles and I check quickly to see if I didn't accidentally release my claws, despite being very in control of them. My fists didn't release any claws but they are clenched tightly, almost shaking.

I relax them, realizing that I'm crouched low, ready to fight or flee. I didn't even realize it.

I straighten up completely, noticing the look of suspicion in both parents eyes. I moisten my mouth, turning my head slightly, glancing at the food I'd left on the plate. I look back at the parents and feel too off-put turning my back to them, simply because they are strangers. I know that I don't know much about the outside world but the concept of danger in every corner is not new to me. I know that even without Hydra, the world outside is still dangerous.

But...I somehow _know_ Clint Barton. Hawkeye. I know he's trustworthy. I somehow know him and suddenly Laura and her children by extension. I remember seeing it happen. Him landing a jet and walking up to the door, opening it and greeting Laura and his kids, Lila and Cooper. Laura was pregnant...

Taking a seat, I face away from them, staring hard at the food in front of me but my mind still running a mile a minute. Why? Why do I know them? Why do I know so much about him? I feel my head begin to ache mildly. I rub my temples as I rest an elbow on the table, closing my eyes. No...not now...I was just starting to remember more.

I frown as I open my eyes to stare at the table again, still just wondering why. Should I tell them? I shake my head. No. They don't even recognize me. It would be suspicious if I just happen to know a lot of information on Clint Barton, the ex-Avenger, retired family man. But not retired for long…

I grimace at the throb in my head at that thought. I don't even know where it came from but my head throbs the second it came up. I suppose that that information isn't coming today.

I grimace, wondering just why I know this. Perhaps Hydra implanted memories? They've been trying to make successful false memories, though I don't know if they succeeded. Perhaps this is it? Capturing moments of one of the people on their target list and placing that intel into the mind of their would be assassin. I shake my head, confused. Who knows? I hardly remember a thing from within the jumbled memories held in Hydra besides the last few days.

The parents stand by the door behind me, their expressions out of sight but their hushed words reach my ears as I try to focus on them while staring down at the food, taking the fork and carefully lifting what's left of the potato and putting it in my mouth. Try to keep your mind off the memories for once, I tell myself. Assessing the amount of food, I realize that I'm almost done with it. There's one more potato left, no carrots and some strands of onion. There's just a few pieces of meat left, along with the food that I spit out earlier.

"So what? She just showed up?" Clint's voice asks.

"No, she...Lila went out looking for Tucker while I was feeding Nathaniel. She went too far and…She found Lila. Lila says that she saved her from a bear."

I eat the food that I spit out earlier and begin to eat faster, unable to slow down due to the hunger that still ails me. Despite having been hungry for the last few weeks, my stomach seems to react poorly simply because of the unease from having the memories of Clint Barton brought back from my memories. Who was I?

"Really, Laura?" Clint says. "A bear? There's no bears that move down this far."

"Unless they're rabid," Laura adds. "Roberta said that it was rabid. I heard roars and screams and... For Christ's sake, Clint, I even think that she killed the thing. She was covered in blood when we found her."

There's a sharp intake of breath. "You think that the emaciated woman over there killed a rabid bear?"

"I don't know. Maybe...maybe you should take her to SHIELD. I think she's in trouble but...I don't trust her."

I stiffen at the words. SHIELD…

"You know that SHIELD doesn't have the same resources it used to. Coulson's who-knows-where and Nick is off the grid again. I wouldn't even know how to contact them," Clint replies.

"I don't know. It's just...something's wrong with her. She's scared but I can tell that she's dangerous," Laura replies.

There's a brief pause before he clears his throat. "We should ask her where she came from. What's up? Maybe just keep her around until she's up on her feet," he says.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Laura asks, her voice clearly indicating that she's sure that it's _not_.

"If we let her leave like _that_...I doubt she'd be able to fight off another rabid bear."

I stare at the leftover juice on the plate, my stomach still longing for more despite its upset. I bring my finger to the plate, running it over the surface and collecting juice and putting it in my mouth. Still tastes good.

I bring the plate up, licking the juice up and managing to get some on the tip of my nose. Turning the plate to collect whatever's left of the juice.

"Actually maybe she could. Hunger does things to people," Clint says with a chuckle.

I hear steps approaching me and I tense up a bit as I lower the plate. I don't look at them as I hear them approach the table.

"You want more?"

I look up, startled at the offer. Clint said it and looking up at his towering figure, I feel myself bristle up. His expression is s friendly and hospitable. If I hadn't known how worth from strange memories of him, I would find him a threat, obvious experience in combat and marksmanship. Physically more intimidating. The perfect agent.

I then process his words.

"I could-" I begin but I hold my tongue. It's ridiculous. I shouldn't eat another plate. I already had one. One meal should be enough. That's how it's usually done, right?

I shake my head, pushing the plate away while staring at the pot holding more food. The smell still taunts me and my stomach growls in protest. I wonder how loud it was to them, but it was strong enough to have my cover my belly and shrink in on myself.

"You could have another plate, Roberta," Laura offers. I look up at the pair again. Staring at Laura, I could see that she's not lying as she points to the pot of food. "It's not a problem."

I glance back at the pot and then my plate before tightening a hand on my stomach, which starts to growl more. I reach for the plate in front of me slowly and lift it, moving to hold it out to Laura before nodding. "More?"

She takes it without hesitation, bringing it to the pot and placing more vegetables and meat on the plate. I watch in anticipation as she adds the last of the meat and she places it in front of me. I nod and mutter a small 'thank you' before taking the fork and picking up chunks of potato. I stuff them into my mouth and chew on them quickly while using the fork to pick up more food.

I freeze when I see a hand grab the back of the chair next to me and pull it back. Clint drops into the seat, making himself comfortable and scooting forward.

I grip the fork in my hand tightly as I stare at the man, trying to keep calm as I see him look at me once he settles himself in. Despite knowing where his alliances fall to, old habits of distrust and weariness die hard.

I see Laura pull out the chair beside him and take a seat. I stare at the two adults, my mouth still full of potato.

I see them look at me expectantly and my jaw begins to ache. I slowly continue chewing through the food and swallow, staring between them and the plate in front of me. Why are they sitting there? What do they want? Do they know? Do they know me and not want to say? I dismiss the idea. They're thinking of asking me questions about myself. Either they're very good agents or simply telling the truth.

I pick up some carrots and meat, swallowing the food in my mouth, my head still aching.

"So…" Clint begins, his voice making me stiffen and stop in my actions to eat more. He laces his fingers together as he leans forward a bit. "Roberta? That your name?"

I stare at him, my hand clutching the fork tightly. I nod slowly, bringing the food to my mouth.

The sudden thought of the ease of taking me down with this fork that I'm holding makes me freeze as I place the food in my mouth. He could shove the fork into the back of my mouth right now, use his palm to push the fork past my teeth and pierce the back of my throat. He could rip this fork out of my hand and jab it into my eye. He could take his own fork and stab my throat.

A multitude of thoughts makes me switch out my fork with the spoon. I shake my head at my own thoughts but don't trade the fork back in. It's like his proximity has given my mind the decision to say that full distrust and paranoia win out when people who can kill are within a foot of you, despite being trustworthy people.

I chew on the food quickly as I scoop up more food.

"How'd you get here, Roberta?" he asks.

I look at them while I swallow my food, glancing at the food on my fork. If he doesn't know me, why is he questioning me about this? Why does he need to know? Is he thinking of turning me over to SHIELD anyway? Or...others?

The smell of smoke and the pain of the experiments makes me tremble in my seat and my hand shakes. I shake my head, not wanting to think about those events.

I look back at the food on the spoon and place it in my mouth, ignoring his question.

"Alright. Quiet type. I see...uh," he sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

I see Laura lean in as I scoop up more food, munching on the mouthful I currently have ravenously. "Okay, how about we start off with something easier," she suggests gently. Her hand is placed in front of her, some kind of effort to make me comply, I believe. "What is your last name?"

 _Roberta Lopez._

I furrow my brows, resting the neck of my spoon on the plate. That last word...is that my last name? It's always come after my name whenever I think about that memory.

"I…" my voice is still hoarse but my throat doesn't feel as dry because of this meal. "I think it's...Lopez."

"Lopez?" Clint repeats curiously. "How old are you?"

His gaze is focused and I can tell that he's contemplating something. I lick my lips, closing my eyes as I try to remember my file. I'm human, enhanced through unclear circumstances. I am a female. My age was determined to be…

"Twenty...three," I answer. I moisten my mouth. I need water.

Clint hums, expression calculating.

I look around the room, noticing a large gallon full of water and I glance at the two adults. Their focus is on me. I clear my throat.

"Can I have some water?"

Laura seems to notice that something is missing from my meal and she gets up to get something from a cupboard. It's a glass.

"So...you got any family? Anyone we can call?" Clint's voice draws me attention back to him.

I think back to Yasmen. To my sister. Then to Kayla. I don't know if Kayla is direct family but Yasmen is. But...she's dead. Or at least, I remember seeing her dead. Yet she's also an Avenger. I glance at Clint. I don't know him. He could still pose a threat. If Hydra catches up to me, he will be tortured, interrogated of what he knows about me and where I'm headed. The less he knows, the safer I am in the future. In fact, I shouldn't have told them _anything_ about me. If they're lucky, Hydra will pass by, interrogate them and maybe leave if they're convinced I was never here. If they do get suspicious, the parents could give away information of my whereabouts and get the family killed. I glance at the children as Laura places the glass of water in front of me. I see Lila turn over in her sleep and Cooper's head begin to lean forward with his eyelids drooping. It would be a shame to see such young children dead.

I feel a piercing ache in my head at the sight of a sleepy Cooper. Images of children sitting in the same position the siblings are assault me. The lights off in a homey living room, orange light illuminating the scene from a chimney at the front of the room. I stare at two little girls, the younger one cuddled in on herself in the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, her dark hair poking out from the top and thick framed glasses sitting crooked on her nose as the side of her face is pressed into the cushion of the couch. The other sitting on the floor, leaning her back on the couch and dozing off, her freckled face directed to the ceiling as her head leans back against the couch.

I gasp as I open my eyes, not realizing that I closed them. The ache stays, lingering in the back of my head as I lean an elbow on the table and hold my head up. I let out a whine, wincing at the prevalent pain. This one hurt a lot.

"Hey, Roberta," Laura frets. "Are you alright?"

I look at the parents and I feel tears well up in my eyes. I've seen people like that before. Parents standing the same way these two are.

A steady ache accompanies the growing image of two middle-aged adults. A light skinned, hispanic woman with blonde hair and a deceptively white-looking man with graying hair sprinkling his receding hairline. My father sits in a wooden chair like Clint does, staring at me with much more loving brown eyes. My mother stands behind him, her hands resting on the back of his chair. I stare at the parents as the memory of mine brings enough tears to my eyes that they run down my cheeks, one making its way into my mouth. I swallow as my throat closes up painfully and the ache grows.

I bring my hand to my head and I shake my head at the pain but I struggle to feel complete agony because of the revelation of these memories. I feel my stomach turn and I drop my utensil, knowing that if I place anything more in my mouth then I will not be able to hold it down.

I push my plate away slightly, disappointed at my inability to finish it without vomiting but knowing that it would be a waste anyway if I try to eat it.

"You full?" Clint asks, but I could tell that even if I answer yes, he wouldn't believe me.

I shake my head, hands gripping my head. I wasn't prepared for this. For all these memories. They're splitting my head open. It feels like blood and brains would be spilling all over the floor soon. I whimper as I use my forearm to move the plate aside, placing my forehead to the cool surface of the table. I feel my warm skin cool at the touch.

I feel a hand gently touch my back before another smooths itself over my forehead.

"Come with me, Roberta," Laura says, drawing my eyes to her. "You don't look well. I'll help you get settled in for the night."

Despite my rapid healing factor, I feel an ache deep in my head. It's not intense or prominent but it makes me feel drained and almost empty. I nod thoughtlessly, thinking about sleep. I would like to sleep.

I stumble to my feet and Laura tries to support me, throwing my arm over her shoulder. Clint stands up as well, throwing my other over his shoulder.

They help me to the stairs, dragging me up and taking me to a room at the end of their hall. They open the door and turn on the light. It's a very homey looking room. Nice cream walls and a dresser and vanity at the side, against the wall opposite to the bed in front of the door. I grit my teeth as my head throbs once more, the pain persistent as they let me sit down on the bed after drawing back the covers.

Clint steps away for a bit and Laura tries to keep me upright. I just want to sleep. For the first time, I feel like my body and I finally agree that _now_ is the time to sleep.

"Hold on, just a minute, Roberta," Laura says, holding me up. "Clint'll be back soon."

As soon as she utters those words, Clint is striding back through the doorway, a large white pill in his hand and a glass of water. He holds it out and I look at it dumbly before Laura takes the pill and water. "It's a painkiller. Hopefully it helps."

Laura puts it in my hand and I stare down at it. Yeah...yeah. I've taken these before. Back home when I was sick…

I pop it in my mouth and dry swallow it, taking the glass of water from Laura anyway and downing it. I drop onto the bed, my head hitting the pillow. I groan as my head reacts to the sudden movement. I turn to lay on my back with my head throbbing. Laura stands and she pulls the covers over me. They're soft.

"Hopefully you feel better, Roberta," she whispers, Clint at her side as they look down at me in concern.

I feel my consciousness fading as I look at them, wincing when a particular throb gets to me. I look at them, still astoundingly confused about why I seem to know the two.

"Why do I know you…"


End file.
